


Castiel and Crowley TNM Episode 7: Life of Crowley

by WatchingOne



Series: Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingOne/pseuds/WatchingOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Showdowns with the bosses, new projects and 'market research'. Office politics in Hell is never quite as boring as it sounds - it doesn't quite get the point across.....Now all Crowley has to make sure of is that the actual point isn't going across his throat....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tuesday in Hell

# Tuesday in Hell

 _Breathe, Crowley, just breathe_....Crowley thought, attempting to reassure himself, his eyes shut, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly, the lettering on the office door he stood in front of coming into focus.

'Lilith', the letters stated simply, in standard, uninteresting, black block type.

Still, the name seemed to rise and contract on the door, like something breathing, writhing, almost ready to explode in rage.

Crowley swallowed deeply and adjusted his too-tight necktie once more.

Lilith.

His boss.

Hell on wheels.

She was the first Demon that Lucifer had ever created once he established his kingdom in Hell, his revenge against God for banishing him there. She had led the Demons in the War of the Seals against the forces of Heaven, breaking all of the Seals required to free Lucifer, save one.

That last one was what had landed her here in the armpit of Hell.

Lilith was _supposed_ to have sacrificed herself to break the final Seal, allowing Lucifer's vessel to kill her and cracking the Cage open. She apparently had other ideas, instead switching out the final Knight of Hell, Abaddon, as sacrifice at the last moment, transformed and bound to appear as a helpless Lilith to Lucifer's vessel. It was an act of self-preservation, and luckily for Hell, it had worked, even in defiance of the Rules of the Seals. Abaddon proved powerful enough of an offering to break the final Seal, but Lucifer....well, he was not particularly amused, or pleased, with Lilith. The alteration to the spell had left him partially trapped in the Cage, not able to fully manifest in Hell or Earth, even after he had taken his vessel. This put him at a distinct disadvantage in the War against Heaven and Michael. That's why the War raged on and on, instead of being one, large, cataclysmic event.

Luckily, or _unluckily_ , if you considered all that happened afterwards for Lilith, Lucifer acknowledged the drive and ambition to survive that she had displayed, and if anyone could understand the need to rebel in the face of impossibilities, it was Lucifer.

So, he hadn't ripped her apart. He had sent her here. To the Bureau of Crossroad Demon Contracts.

She....wasn't adjusting well.

As far as Crowley could remember, Lilith had eviscerated at least two-hundred agents in the time that she had been there. It was more than a regular occurrence to receive a summons from the white-eyed terror, to never be heard from again.

There didn't even have to be a real reason.

 _I'm done for_ , Crowley thought glumly, reaching out with a shaking hand and turning the knob on the office door.

“You're late,” an almost childlike voice rang sing-song from behind a plain wooden office desk. Crowley dared to glance up off of the low-pile blue carpet to find the source.

She sat there behind the desk, which was stacked with manilla folders, their paperwork contents stuffed to bursting, or randomly spilling out onto the desk, completely uncared for. There were also three or four empty coffee mugs stacked around the folders, a couple of which were knocked over, their contents dried out to a darker stain along the wood ages ago.

Lilith herself was a disheveled mess.

Her skin was gaunt and her hair was like a rat's nest. She wore what was once a white business suit, but was stained with various things that Crowley did not wish to guess at. She had her elbow on the desk, propping up her head, while with her other hand, she was idly clanking together the balls on a Newton's Cradle device, the retort of the metal spheres practically the only other sound in the room.

She looked up at Crowley, large, blue-black bags under her eyes and gave him a yellow, toothy smile.

Crowley could practically smell the alcohol from across the room. He flinched involuntarily.

Lilith grinned wider and gestured a claw at a chair in front of her desk.

Crowley nodded and walked tentatively to the chair. Lilith watched him like a tiger watched prey, eyes full of curiosity, a hint of amusement, and completely unmistakable malice.

He sat down and tried to look anywhere but at her. He found himself stammering out a response to his tardiness.....anything to break up that _stare_....

“I....I do apologize most profusely, Mistress Lilith. To be quite honest, I found myself moving....well....rather slowly down this particular hallway.” He swallowed hard and looked back at her.

She had stopped playing with the device and was watching him intently now. Her head had slipped from her hand and now rested on the desk, her mouth hanging open a bit. She slowly closed it, closed her eyes, seemingly gathering her strength, nodded to herself and sat up, leaning rather wobbily back in her chair.

She waved a drunken hand through the air in front of her face.

“What? You don't like my 'domain', here, minion? Whassa matter with it? Not orderly enough? That's it, it's the mess, issn-it?”

She crashed an arm into the desk and flung half of it's cluttered contents to the floor in a vicious sweep. Papers stirred lazily in the air for a few seconds before settling to their new home on the floor. Crowley gripped the armrests of his chair with white knuckles.

 _Here it comes_....

“What? Schtop it....!”, Lilith shouted at him. “I'm not gonna kill you, you insect, relax....”

Crowley opened one eye slowly, realizing suddenly that he had closed them tight.

He wished he had kept it closed, though.

Lilith had someone materialized directly in front of his face, her rotten teeth and breath inches from his nose. He glanced up at the wild, sunken white eyes and shrank back.

“You want to know why you're here, little mouse?”, Lilith slurred at him.

It took Crowley a few moments to gather up the courage to answer.

“If...if you don't mind, Mistress, yes, I would like that very much.”

Lilith nodded slowly, her eyes getting less intent, more lazy.

She leaned her mouth closer to Crowley's ear and began to whisper. Crowley had to fight not to recoil from the stench.

“I got a message from the Palace, little mouse. A message about _you_ , as a matter of fact.”

Crowley blinked.

“The...the  _Palace_ , Mistress?  _His_ Palace?”

“No, the  _other_ one, you imbecile,” Lilith crooned, leaning back from him. Crowley breathed in deep in relief. “Yes, that Palace. Now, do you want to tell me why they're so interested in what you're doing in your free time?”

The wheels in Crowley's mind began spinning at once. He hadn't had much use of his propensity for scheming here in this rat-hole of a job, but he hadn't completely lost his edge. He was just out of practice was all.

“My....free time, Mistress?”, he finally replied after thinking it over. “I'm afraid I cannot be sure as to what you're referring to.”

Lilith's face twisted in undisguised fury, but she struggled with it for a second and apparently got it back under control. Crowley smiled to himself.

Just as he had thought....

Lilith waved a hand nonchalantly in the air. “Oh, don't play coy, mouse. You know perfectly well as to what I'm referring to.”

Crowley cocked his head to the side, sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

“Nope. Not a clue.”

Lilith's lip curled back in a snarl and she rushed forward and grabbed him by the necktie, pulling his face inches from hers.

He did not flinch.

“Every single night,  _Agent Crowley_ ,” she spit out his name like poison. “Every. Single. Night.” She emphasized her words with hard, painful jerks on the tie. “You are spotted entering the archives. There you spend hour after hour pouring over old volumes regarding the War of the Seals and other past events. Did you really think that His Infernal Majesty wouldn't notice that?” She showed more teeth and drew him even closer, until all he could see were those, red-rimmed, sunken white eyes.

“I'm only going to ask you this  _once_ , you little maggot, what are you looking for in there?”

Crowley met her stare, and smiled.

“Let me go, you stupid, smelly, drunken bink,” he snarled in a near whisper.

Lilith's eyes widened, and then narrowed in anger.

“Wha....what did you just say to me....?”, she growled at him, incredulous.

“You heard me just fine, I think. Even  _you_ can't have drunken yourself deaf.”

“I will rip your head from your....!”

Crowley reached his hand up to the the one she was holding his tie with and began to gently pry her fingers off.

“No. You won't,” he said slowly, as if explaining himself to a particularly petulant child. “You see, my dear, you have let slip a very vital piece of information. One that I find leaves you in a very precarious situation regarding yours truly.” He got her hand free, which she let numbly drop to her side. Her eyes were full of shock and fury as he leaned back and stood up and away from her.

“You see, I've been dealing in Crossroad Demon deals since Hell opened them up for business, so I know how to read between the lines a bit better than you, especially when attempting to conceal important information. Whereas you, you were just one of Hell's bruisers for a millenia. All brawn. No brains. Now, would you like to know where you took this particular misstep?”

Lilith glared at him in response.

Crowley shrugged, continuing without being prompted.

“You told me that the Palace was looking into this matter. And then you wanted to know what it was that I was doing. That means someone above your paygrade has a vested interest in that particular nugget of information. And they asked you to find out for them. Moreso, they didn't ask you to stop me, or I'd be dead already, which means I am to be allowed to continue doing whatever I'm doing. An official sanction, I'd wager.”

He leaned down to glare at her.

“Which means, that unless you are looking for another, even more  _prestigious_ office than this one, you better deliver the information that I uncover. Which also means, you are relying on me. Tell me, darling, am I about right so far?”

Lilith's lips curled back in an evil smile. “I don't have to kill you to hurt you, maggot.”

Crowley waved a scolding finger in the air. “Tsk, tsk, Mistress of mine. Please keep in mind, I don't do my reading so well whilst enduring crippling pain.” He pursed his lips and frowned. “Actually, now that I think about, I don't even do that well with any kind of discomfort whatsoever.”

Lilith's mouth actually dropped open in disbelief at that. She stared and stared until her shoulders drooped, her head following in defeat.

“What the hell do you want?”

Crowley's grin widened.

 

***

 

The look of shock on his fellow Demon's faces when he walked out unscathed from Lilith's office was worth a hundred years of torture, Crowley decided. He walked over to his desk and began to gather up his personal effects. The Demon next to him, Tom was his name, as Crowley recalled, he rarely spoke with his co-workers, was the one to finally ask him.

“What....what  _happened_ in there, Crowley?”

Crowley grinned, shoving a few choice paperback novels into the box.

“Movin' on up, my good friend,” he answered. “I'm to be re-assigned.”

Toms' face was blank.

“Wh....what?”

Crowley looked up at him, mock bemusement on his face.

“Why, just as I said. Re-assigned. Leaving. Adios, rat-hole. Hello new job.”

“But...no one....”

“Ah,” Crowley said, interrupting, holding up a finger. “No one, but Crowley, you mean, gets out of this place.” He took a deep breath and picked up his box of possessions.

“So, adieu, my fellow Agents in Misery. I truly, truly hope....that we shall  _never_ see each other again.”

With that, and a huge smile, Crowley strode out of the office, heading to his newly acquired space directly next to Hell's archives.

_Now, if I only knew what the hell I was looking for in the first place_ ...., he thought as he walked down the hall, his smile fading.

 


	2. All Access

#  All Access

Waking up in a cold sweat in Hell was nothing new to Crowley. What was different is that when he pulled himself out from his sweat-soaked sheets this time, a word was echoing in his head.

_Castiel._

He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and pressed a steadying hand against his temple, trying to hold the hangover in.

Ah yes, the  _other_ new thing.

He had spent much of the previous night celebrating his newfound success - a brand new luxury living quarters, a new job researching the War of the Seals in the archive, no more reporting to Lilith – life was looking up. Very, very up.

He pulled a bit at the front of his silk pajamas, wincing in disgust as they clung to his cool, clammy chest, then he peeled them the rest of the way off and climbed into the shower.

Another luxury in Hell – hot water. He felt himself relax, closing his eyes against the wonderful, warm steam. Crowley's mind raced as he scrubbed himself off. What could possibly be the reason behind all of this? Something he had uncovered in his off-time, obviously. Something that had to do with the very long dead Angel Castiel, and the sinking of Atlantis. He'd have to keep prying in that direction. What he couldn't figure out was - why was any of this so important to Lucifer? As far as Crowley knew, all Lucifer was interested in was the War, and any potential weapons that could be used to gain an advantage against Michael. How a seven-million year dead Angel fit into any of that, he had no idea.

He got dressed in a new suit and fastened cufflinks onto his shirt, taking a deep, satisfied breath. He somehow was feeling....quite  _complete_ , being pampered like this. The life of an office drone had not agreed with him.

He went into the archive with a spring in his step. Attie, the librarian, peered at him over the rim of her black glasses and let out a small whistle.

“Wow. What exactly happened to  _you_ ?”, she said, amusement tinging her voice.

“Do you like it?”, Crowley answered, twirling, his arms spread far out to the side, a wide smile on his face. “I seem to have been found in favor as of late.”

Attie cocked her head.

“What for? Who'd you kill?”

Crowley smirked and sat down at the central table, making a show of dusting off the surface.

“Surprisingly, no one. It seems that my activities here have caught the attention of the higher-ups, and they wish me to continue. In comfort as well, it appears.”

Crowley noticed Attie hesitate, her skin paling a bit, before recovering and giving her mouth a half-twisted smile.

“Interesting. I would have thought they had bigger fish to fry than to pay attention to some dusty old books.”

Crowley leaned forward, watching Attie carefully.

“See, on this I agree with you....”, he said, voice low, probing. “Why would the Throne of Hell be so interested in my night-time hobby?” He watched for a reaction, meeting her cool blue eyes. She didn't give him one. Crowley shrugged.

“It doesn't matter. I'm to continue researching the archives. I received a brief in my mail this morning,” he continued, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a crisply folded letter. “I am to be allowed access to whatever I wish. And, the spell that makes me forget everything? Please remove it.” He stood up and walked over to Attie, holding out the letter for her to read. She took it from him slowly and licked her lips, reading it. When she was finished, her eyebrows went up and she nodded to herself, handing him back the letter.

“Yes. Official. All-access backstage pass. Very interesting indeed,” she said, moving out from behind the desk to stand in front of him. She regarded him for a second and, seemingly deciding something, held her hands to either side of his head.

“Close your eyes. I'll remove the warding.”

Crowley closed his eyes and felt her fingers gently brush his temples.

What felt like a combination of an electric jolt and some kind of unseen weight falling from his head ran through him. He felt himself take a step back, his eyes jumping open.

“Wha....what was that?”, he stammered, looking at Attie in surprise. “That felt like it came from inside me.... _what did you just do to me_ ?!”

Attie watched him, not reacting.

“I....changed something for you. Now you can read these accounts without losing the information. I'm.....sorry, but it was necessary to alter your perceptions to do so.”

Crowley blinked at her. “I thought it was some kind of spell associated with the  _books_ , not with me.”

Attie didn't respond for a long time, then she sighed and moved back behind her desk.

“I seriously can't explain any more, Crowley.”

“Excuse me?”

Attie shook her head and looked back up at him.

“All I can promise you is that it will make sense to you. Eventually.”

Crowley watched her, dumbfounded. He finally shook his head and sat down grumbling.

“Fine, be mysterious, if that's what gets you by.” He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “So, that's it then? I can read anything I want and remember it?”

Attie nodded.

“Fine. Please bring me the accounts of when Michael and Lucifer took their vessels for the current war. I was having a difficult time remembering the principles there.”

Crowley watched Attie pale again, before she went into the rows of books and started pulling down several different copies.

_What in the hell is bothering her?_ , Crowley thought, frustrated.

She place the books in front of him and moved back to behind her podium. Crowley watched her and sighed.  _Crazy bink_ ....

_Nothing else for it, I suppose, than to delve in_ ....He cracked open the first ledger.

 

***

 

The Angel Zachariah was sent to raise Dean Winchester from Perdition, once he had broken the first Seal. Not wanting to take any chances, the Angel had secured Dean in a safe house, awaiting Michael. The Angels were also aware of Dean's brother Sam, being manipulated by the forces of Hell into releasing Lucifer. Apparently, the original plan in Heaven was to keep that information mostly hidden from the lower hierarchy of Angels, as Michael's plan of purposefully starting the Apocalypse without God's say-so seemed, well, highly unorthodox to say the least. They sensed resistance was possible so the loyalists Raphael, Uriel and Zachariah were let in on the plan and were assigned by Michael to implement it.

They had let Dean know that it all hinged on the killing of the Demon Lilith by Sam's hand to break the final Seal. Heaven being Heaven, however, looked for a way to gain an advantage. They had heard that Lilith might have be reluctant to sacrifice herself for Lucifer. So, Micheal, in God's absence, and working hand-in-hand with Metatron, re-wrote the conditions for the Final Seal, making it possible to break it with the sacrifice of another powerful Demon besides Lilith, in this case, Abaddon. Unbeknownst to Hell, the changing of that condition would greatly weaken Lucifer, letting Heaven gain the advantage. Zachariah presented the plan to Dean, as a way to save the planet from destruction. Dean told Zachariah that he also saw it as a way to save half of the planet from a devastating Apocalypse and agreed.

What Heaven did not know, however, was that Dean was also looking for a way to keep his brother from becoming Satan's vessel. That, plus he had no intention of saying yes to Michael himself.

That's where everything went sideways.

Lilith wasn't necessarily hard to convince. As Heaven had learned, she was already not crazy about the idea of sacrificing herself and had for a long time apparently decided to make a deal with the Winchesters to cease her activities. Lilith met Sam in a seedy hotel room with her proposal. He'd give up his life, and Dean's, and she'd abandon the quest to release Lucifer. Dean showed up at that moment with the counter-offer: kill Abaddon instead, and Lilith would get to survive. Lilith agreed.

Lilith helped the Winchesters set up the final sacrifice, and when Lucifer appeared, he was, as expected, severely weakened. Unfortunately for everyone, he was not powerless, however. In fact, they had severely underestimated just how much power even a weakened Lucifer had at his disposal.

In a rage, he captured Dean and told Sam that if he did not agree to become his vessel, he would tear Dean apart in Hell for all eternity, and destroy half of the planet just for spite. Sam, having seemingly no other choice, made the deal, but Lucifer was still in a weakened condition.

Knowing this, Lucifer bound Dean Winchester's soul to the Cage, along with his half-brother Adam's, leaving Heaven no vessel for Michael. But since Lucifer had promised to release Dean Winchester from eternal torment, he had no choice but to allow his soulless body to return to Earth.

Rather than having no way to counter Lucifer whatsoever, the Angel's took what was available, convincing the now soulless Dean to say yes, but the result was also less than ideal, leaving Michael similarly handicapped power-wise.

Thus, the War between Heaven and Hell had raged for the last several years, a series of half-measures that was slowly, but surely, burning down the world around it, just not as decisively as either side would have wished it.

In the end, it would have been better to have done it faster, apparently.

With neither side being able to finish the other, the War just erupted in burst after burst, taking cities out one by one. Each side would then retreat, recover whatever power they could, rinse and repeat. There was no clear-cut winner-take all battle, rather a series of a thousand cuts, and the Earth was bleeding out, slowly, but surely.

 

***

 

Crowley let out a deep breath, closing the book. He rubbed at his forehead, but the images and, more importantly, the names, stayed with him. Sam. Dean. The Winchesters. Lucifer and Michael's vessels. Well, sort of.

He glanced up, feeling watched. Attie shot her eyes quickly back down to whatever she was working on, pretending not to have been staring.

Crowley got up, not taking his eyes off of her and walked over.

“Interesting reading,” he said nonchalantly.

“Was it?”, she said, not looking up, ticking off something on that ledger she was always carrying around.

Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“What is it you're not telling me here, Attie?”, he whispered, the danger evident in his voice.

Attie simply smiled at him. She put down her pen and met his eyes.

“I'm sure you've already asked yourself this, in fact, I'd be surprised with you if you hadn't: what could Lucifer  _possibly_ want from you researching this material?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“You tell me.”

“Hmf,” Attie answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

Crowley sighed.

“Fine. Well....he isn't interested in anything but the War. So there must be something in this information that would gain him an advantage in the current conflict.”

Attie nodded slightly.

“But what could possibly be there? It's ancient history...all of it,” Crowley continued, exasperated, waving his arm at the pile of books on the table.

Attie watched him for a few seconds and shrugged.

“What can you tell me about Lucifer?”, she asked.

Crowley met her eyes and frowned.

“Deceitful, manipulative, powerful, angry, petty...and that's on a good day....”

Attie arched an eyebrow.

“What else?”

“What in the historical sense?”, Crowley shrugged. “First among the Angels, fallen out of favor for not obeying God....”

Attie nodded. “Exactly. Angel....”

Crowley's brow furrowed, turning slowly back to Attie.

“Angel....”

“Flight, divination, strength, and....”

Crowley turned back to the archives.

“....ancient history....”, he whispered. He looked back to Attie, his eyes wide open.

“....time travel....you're talking about time travel?”

Attie shrugged, nodding. “Is it really outside of the realm of possibilities, that Lucifer is looking for a weapon that might have existed in the past? Or a set of circumstances that he could change to gain himself an advantage?”

Crowley rubbed his chin, comprehension settling in.

“His weakened power....if he could find a way to reverse that....”

Attie nodded. “Crowley, keep in mind, he might not be the only one looking for this information....I would advise you to be careful. Very careful.”

Crowley looked at her, studying her expression. “Who else is looking, Attie?” He felt a chill along his spine, as another thought crossed his mind. “Or....have they already been coming here?”

Attie's eyes simply drifted upward until she was looking at the ceiling. Crowley felt the blood drain out of his face.

“Bloody Hell.”

That night, the faces of Dean and Sam Winchester featured a role in Crowley's nightmares. That, plus the sound of dark, ruffling wings, moving unseen through the air, bearing swift, silver justice. He woke in the dark with a start, his sheets soaked completely through, panting for breath.

“....Bloody hell....” he whispered into the blackness, pulling the covers up to his chin.

 


	3. Twists and Turns

# Twists and Turns

All things considered- nightmares notwithstanding-the assassination attempt on Crowley was not entirely unexpected.

He stepped out of his shower and had begun to get dressed, thinking about what he would research that day. More about the Winchesters most likely-he needed to know more about the vessels. The half measures that Michael and Lucifer had resorted to to possess them left several intriguing questions as to their status, and, more importantly, if they were still viable as sources of information or opportunity. They were most likely not actually destroyed by the two Archangels, as they had never been fully possessed.

They might have what he was looking for.

He began to put on his shoes when he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. It was the barest blur of a shadow, really, but, as he lived completely alone....

Crowley nodded to himself and spun, at the same time ducking out of the way.

A blast of pure demonic and kinetic force slammed into his closet door, turning the wooden slats into kindling. The smell of sulpher rose in the air as Crowley narrowed his eyes, fixing them on the outline of the intruder standing in the shadow of his living room next to the door connecting it to a hallway.

He growled and summoned his power, sending out a binding spell at the would-be assassin.

Crowley, although he had basically been a paper-pusher most of his career, was no lightweight when it came to demonic force. The wielding of those energies seemed to run in his family for some odd reason.

The figure let out a gasp of surprise as it tried to run, but found itself held still. Crowley, his hand still held in front of him, fingers spread, advanced on it.

The features began to resolve themselves in the dim light-it was a female. She was glaring at him, unable to move, hatred in her eyes.

“Well, well, who do we have here,” Crowley murmured, the threat and anger in his voice lending it a hard edge. He stopped just in front of the Demon and leaned in, his brow contorting in anger “Did you just try to eviscerate me?” She continued to glare back, not saying a thing. Crowley shook his head.

“No? Fine, then. Technically, I have a job to do today. But,” he added, holding up a finger as he picked up a silver letter opener from an end table, careful to grasp it by it's buffed iron and plastic handle,“no one said that that job had to be finished today.” He held up the blade and turned it in the light, letting it flash along it's edge. “Or, this entire  _week_ , for that matter, if the truth were to be told.”

The Demon's eyes widened and sweat began to bead on her forehead.

Crowley smiled wickedly.

“Now, let's try it one more time before we begin, shall we? Who are you, and why did you just try to kill me?”

The Demon licked her lips.

Crowley let out a 'tsk' of disappointment and slashed at the Demon's cheek, raising a smoking dark wound on her cheek and eliciting a scream of pain from her.

He moved the knife to right over her neck, and the Demon began to sweat more, her eyes wild.

“Meg, OK! Meg!”, she blurted out.

Crowley stopped and raised his eyebrows. “Meg, you say?” He lowered the knife but let it stay in her line of sight. “OK then, Meg. Second question. Why did you just try to kill me?”

Meg lowered her eyes, keeping them on the silver knife. Her wound still smoldered.

“That's....that's real silver,” she managed. “Why in all of the nine Hell's would you even  _have_ something like that...”

Crowley shrugged. “Heirloom. And a bloody useful one to have around, don't you think? But please remember,”, he said, as he whipped the knife to press against Meg's other cheek. “I'm the one asking the bloody questions!”, he shouted, moving his face closer to hers.

Meg paled. Then she managed a half- smile. A sarcastic sneer.

_Typical Demon_ , Crowley sighed to himself, preparing to continue the torture.  _Completely screwed, but has to be appropriately snarky_ ....

“You already know her, I think,” Meg hissed. “She isn't too happy with you, Mr. Crowley. And if you think for a second that I'm the last....”

“Oh, I have no doubt that you're just the first. That's why you're going to make such a fine example for what's going to happen when they try it again,” Crowley hissed back.

Meg braced herself as Crowley began to apply pressure to the knife.

An unseen force hit Crowley dead-center in his chest and flung him halfway across the room, sending him crashing through a mahogany end table and into the wall, the pieces of the end table and porcelain shards of the lamp that had been on it crashing around him to the floor. He re-oriented himself and scrambled to his feet, noting with satisfaction that he had managed to hold onto the letter opener. And that he had also managed not to stab himself with it.

He scanned his living room, looking for Meg.

Gone.

He sighed and warily got up, keeping his eye on the corners and hidden areas around him as he made his way into his entrance hallway and foyer. The front door was left open - apparently Meg had beat a hasty retreat.

He breathed out slowly as he shut and locked the door, leaning his head on his forearm and rotating his bruised and aching shoulders.

That had been one hell of a hit. There was no way a regular Demon like Meg had generated that much force.

He had a pretty good idea who could have, though.

 

***

 

He burst through Lilith's office door, not bothering to knock.

“Listen to me, you venomous, drunken little whore, if you  _think_ that for one second that I don't know that....it....was....you....”, his carefully prepared rant and his steps both slowed as he approached Lilith in her office, his eyes taking in the decor.

The  _actual_ decor.

He looked quickly left and right.

The office room had been cleaned up. Actually, 'cleaned up', wasn't even close to an accurate description of the sand-blasting that would have been required to transform the office into what it was now.

Plush (clean), well-upholstered leather chairs sat in intervals before Lilith's desk. The rug had been removed, and replaced with deep stained and polished oak hardwood, accented with oriental throw rugs. The desk had been completely replaced with a steel-brushed number with wooden panels that defined modern and luxury at a glance.

Lilith herself, however, made the rest just window dressing.

Gone was the gaunt, unwashed, cracked and wasted witch that had occupied this room since Lucifer's half-rising. In her place was a well-dressed, powerful looking executive, with golden hair accented in glowing white, and piercing blue eyes that watched him with open amusement.

Crowley stopped short, his mouth hanging partly open.

“Hired a decorator, have we?”

Lilith's smile widened. “Mr. Crowley. What an unexpected pleasure. Please, have a seat,” she said to him in a sing-song, indicating a chair with a slight wave of her hand.

“No, I don't think so,” Crowley shot back. “We have something to discuss, you and I.” He waved the silver letter opener that he was still carrying back and forth between the two of them, emphasizing his point.

Lilith regarded him with cool, yet still amused eyes. She leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers.

“Whatever do you mean, dear boy?”, she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

“You know bloody damned well what I mean, “ Crowley answered back in a heated growl. “That Demon, Meg, that you just sent to kill me is what I mean.”

Lilith's brow furrowed in confusion. “I'm not sure I think I'm following you....”

“Oh really?”, Crowley spat. “You're going to sit there and try to tell me that you had nothing to do with the Demon assassin that just broke into my apartment and tried to blast me into atoms? Don't think that I don't know how unhappy you are with my current arrangement,” he said, moving a step or two closer, but still keeping his distance. Lilith was still extremely powerful, and even though he had worlds of leverage over her, he didn't want to push it too far.

Lilith frowned. “My dear boy,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “Whatever would have given you that idea?” She stood up from behind her desk and moved, no  _glided_ , out from behind it, displaying a pair of knockout legs as she moved around the corner. “Now, I know we didn't exactly part on the best of terms last week...”

“My point exactly,” Crowley interrupted.

“But,” Lilith continued, holding up a hand. “I was given quite a bit of praise for supporting your....actions since then.” She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. “Crowley, look around you. Look at  _me_ . I was granted a new lease. A promotion as well. And, strangely, I have you to thank for it. Why on earth would I want to harm you?”

Crowley found himself speechless. There seemed to be no good explanation. He felt his anger dwindling, and he found himself tucking the silver weapon back into his jacket pocket. Lilith watched him and nodded.

“It still does leave the very real question, though,” she said, rubbing her chin and twisting her lips. “Who would be trying to kill you?” She shrugged and walked back to her desk, pressing a button on a telephone.

“Yes Ma'am,” came a voice from the other end.

“Be a dear, Tom, and please send me every single scrap of information that you can find on a Demon, Meg was it?,” she asked looking up at Crowley, who nodded dumbly in return. “I want contacts, friends, associates, the works. Someone is out to get my dear Mr. Crowley “ she purred this last, smiling at Crowley coyly, “ and I simply cannot allow that.”

She hung up and walked over to Crowley. She stood directly in front of him and reached out to smooth his suit collar. Crowley had a hard time concentrating over the sweet smell of her perfume.

“Now, I would suggest leaving this nasty Demon business to me,” she practically purred. Crowley felt himself shiver, whether from a waxing desire or fear, he couldn't tell. “ You have work to get back to. Very, very important work. Hop hop.”

She slapped him hard on the butt, and smiled. Crowley straightened up with a jolt of utter shock, and then found himself hurrying out of Lilith's office to get back the archive.

 

***

 

“What do you mean, 'there isn't really anything else'?”

Attie peered at Crowley from behind her glasses, her nose wrinkling.

“I mean, there really isn't anything else regarding the Winchesters,” Attie replied, not blinking. “Anything relevant anyway.” She glanced down at her little clipboard and frowned. “Unless you want to read about their adventures with racist pick-up trucks or swarms of Native American cursed bugs.”

Crowley regarded her for a second and sighed. “No, I suppose not,” he mumbled. He sat down at the central reading table and clasped his hands in front of him.

“I mean, honestly, that's it?” he complained to Attie after a moment. “They get wild ideas in their head to rescue each other and end up screwing up Armageddon? That is to say, screwed up even more than the original?”

Attie shrugged. “Pretty much. Heaven wasn't exactly giving Dean much help, and Sam kinda ended up doing exactly what he was supposed to do, after a fashion.” She nibbled on the end of a pencil eraser she was holding. “I suppose you could say that it was Zachariah that screwed everything up, trying to get an unfair advantage like that.”

Crowley frowned. He rubbed at his temples with his fingers. He was getting absolutely  _nowhere_ with this.

“What does that angel, Castiel, have to do with any of this?”, he asked letting an arm drop to the table.

“What do you mean?”, asked Attie carefully, her face turning a bit paler.

_Aha._

Crowley narrowed his eyes and stood up. He began walking towards Attie slowly.

“ _You_ were the one that insisted on giving me that book, that account of Atlantis sinking that had him in it.”

Attie watched him nervously. “It had Gabriel in it too, Crowley, what of it? I thought it was interesting reading is all. A departure from your normal research.”

“Really?”, Crowley murmured back, drawing the word out. “Because, interestingly enough, memory spell or no memory spell, after that night, that name, _Castiel_ , stuck in my head.” He stopped and squinted at her. “That shouldn't have been possible, am I right?”

Attie's eyes widened in genuine surprise. “You...you never said anything to me about that....”

Crowley grunted and moved closer.

“And why should I, Attie?”, he whispered. “Were you....?” , he spun around on his heel and walked a few paces away before turning back to her. “Were you, _testing me_? Seeing if something like that would happen?”

Attie watched him and did not answer.

“You  _were_ , weren't you?”, Crowley concluded. “That angel is important somehow, isn't he?”

Attie nodded slowly. “If that name stuck with you before I removed the memory ward....then yeah, really, really important I would say.”

“Uh-huh”, Crowley answered simply, walking back to the reading table. “Attie,” he said, leaning on the table on his stretched out arms, a warning in his voice, “one of us here isn't sharing everything that they know now, are they?”

Attie gulped.

“Who told you to test me?”

Attie shivered and hugged herself. Her eyes flicked towards the floor before she raised them slowly back to Crowley.

Crowley followed her gaze and his eyes went wide.

“Really?” he answered, surprised. He jabbed his finger at the floor, pointing straight down. “ _He_ was the one that told you to do it?”

Attie nodded. “He....he said to keep an eye out for someone exactly like you. Someone that....was, well, obsessed with the War of the Seals.”

Crowley nodded and rubbed his chin. “Now it's beginning to make sense....he can't research this thing himself, what with being still trapped in the lower levels and all....” Crowley frowned. “Why not assign another Demon, or a legion of them, to do the research for him?”

Attie breathed out a huff of air. “It doesn't work that way is why.”

“How so?”

Attie breathed heavily again. “Look, it's complicated.”

“Humor me.”

Attie regarded him with her cool blue eyes. “OK, fine. Basically, it has to do with harmonic resonance in relation to divergent time-lines and destinies.”

Crowley nodded and held a palm out for her to continue.

“Basically, someone close to one of these particular divergences, someone _tuned_ into them, someone that had to be actually involved in the alternate timeline, would be the only ones sensitive to the principles involved. Therefore, the detection of said key information, would be limited to that person or persons.” She paused and looked at Crowley, raising an eyebrow. “With me still?”

Crowley wiped a hand over his forehead. “No, you're right, it gave me a headache.” He huffed and sat down, leaning back in the chair. “I think I did get the gist of it though. Basically, you're saying in this alternate timeline, the one that Lucifer is looking for so he can be at full strength, I had something to do with an event that caused this timeline to exist. Am I right?”

Attie nodded. “In layman's terms, yes.”

“She calls that 'layman's terms',” Crowley grumbled under his breath. “So,” he continued, louder, “my natural curiosity for this subject matter is born from my involvement with this alternate reality?”

“Yes.”

“And now it seems like this angel Castiel had something important to do with it also.”

Attie cocked her head. “It appears to be so, yes.”

“And Zachariah screwed everything up....”, Crowley continued, musing. “Tell me something, Attie, where can I find out who would have been responsible for Dean Winchester if Zachariah hadn't been?”

Attie took a literal step back. “Excuse me?”

“When you're looking for where things went wrong, first place blame, then find out who would have done it right. First rule of passing the buck,” Crowley answered, smiling.

“Are you trying to find out what would have happened if _Castiel_ was in charge of Michael's vessel instead of Zachariah?”, Attie asked, glancing down at her tablet.

“Exactly that,” Crowley nodded.

Attie frowned. “Interesting. Extremely so.” She clicked off several things on her tablet and wrinkled up her nose in concentration. She then raised an eyebrow and let out a sigh. “Well, I have some good news and some bad news for you.”

“Truly?”

Attie nodded. “Which do you want first?”

“Start positive. Then let things naturally erode into hell. I've found that's more accurate,” Crowley smiled in response.

“Cute,” Attie replied, rolling her eyes. “Ok, well, the good news is that there is a Prophet of the Lord that apparently predicted that particular story.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “How is that possible? It isn't how things happened.”

Attie nodded. “Prophets are weird like that. Apparently, he wrote, and actually published, every part of the story up until Dean Winchester is raised from Perdition. Some kind of romance/adventure fiction,” Attie said, frowning down at her tablet.

“And the alternate reality part?”

“Never published. Hence, never written down, hence, not exactly the Word of God, per se,” Attie answered. “He did, however, try to pitch the story to his editor, but it never flew.”

“Why?”

“Um, Apocalypse,” Attie answered, shrugging.

“Yeah, that'll get in the way, won't it?”, Crowley answered, his face pensive, looking down at the table before looking back up at Attie. “Allright, what's the bad news?”

“Well, this Prophet, he's the only one with the actual story.”

“And?”, Crowley asked, eyebrows raising.

“And, he actually _survived_ the Apocalypse,” Attie answered slowly. “I'm afraid that to talk to him, you're going to have to go up there. To Earth,” Attie finished, looking up at the ceiling.

There was a very loud 'thunk' as Crowley let his head fall onto the table in front of him.

 


	4. Copyright: Armageddon

# Copyright: Armageddon

Crowley materialized in an abandoned industrial park. Which wasn't necessarily special in and of itself, as most industrial parks in the United Stated had been abandoned for years since Michael and Lucifer had begun their little spat in a Kansas cemetery, simultaneously causing not only active, but also some dormant volcanoes to blow their top, hundred of tornadoes and several hurricanes to spawn, and oh, last but not least, twenty separate earthquakes to kick off across the entire continent, with San Andreas weighing in as the heavyweight with a 9.5 on the Richter scale, taking most of the western seaboard with it into the Pacific Ocean.

There just wasn't much fight left in America after that.

Oh, there were survivors, to be sure. And those survivors had begun to eek out an semblance of existence and civilization afterwards. Crowley wasn't sure, however, what one of them could possibly be doing setting up shop here, amid warehouses and hollowed out office buildings. Most survivors had been opportunists, moving themselves into abandoned mansions and off-the-grid luxury survival homes. One guy and his family had even taken over Texas Stadium. The Crossroads Demons were still actively trying to recruit him. Good instincts, that one.

Crowley looked around, sighed, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his long coat. He strode forward purposefully towards one of the larger structures, still keeping his head on a swivel, looking left and right for signs of activity.

It was a very good thing that he had decided to do that.

The flicker of rapid motion coming from the shadows of one of the warehouses turned out to be a smoke trail. This particular smoke trail had been attached to a small rocket.

Crowley flung himself to the ground and heard rather than felt the rocket pass over his head. It screamed through the air for another two hundred feet or so and hit the asphalt with a ear-shattering impact of imploding air and fire.

Crowley held his hands over his head as the debris came falling down around him, his ears ringing with a constant tone, his head wavy with disorientation. He looked up after all of the rubble had fallen and tracked the line of smoke still hanging in the air back to the place the rocket had been fired.

He teleported over in a blink of an eye, snarling and furious. Unfortunately, whoever had launched that thing at him was no longer there. He let out a frustrated breath and breathed in deeply. He cocked his head as a very familiar scent reached his nostrils. Sulfur. Demons.

Crowley clenched his fists until he could feel his nails digging into his flesh. That was the second time in less than a day that they had tried to kill him.

_When I find out who's behind this_ ....he thought, his minds-eye filling itself rapidly with scenes straight out of a King novel.

He looked around the ground some more for clues and found the launcher for the rocket thrown haphazardly among some wooden planks piled up against the warehouse's thin metal siding. He grabbed it and pulled it out. It was old, practically an antique – a Soviet-Era RPG-26 Algen, if Crowley hadn't missed his guess, and he was quite good with weapons and their nomenclature.

He let it fall back into the pile of junk and scratched at his chin. That was highly unusual. He was in the middle of the American Heartland, or at least, what was left of it, and the weapons that the survivors were arming themselves with were of a much higher quality, not to mention, much more modern. So the question was; where did this thing come from?

He thought he had a pretty good idea, but filed that thought away for later, as the explosion had apparently attracted the attention of the denizens of this particular abode. Several forms were moving cautiously out of a structure a bit further along the wide road that ran through the middle of the compound. Crowley squinted his eyes and noticed that the warehouse they were coming out of wasn't in the same state of disrepair as the others. There wasn't junk piled up around the walls, and the door was heavy steel, with a blinking security camera hanging over it. He scanned around to the side of the building and saw a few large trucks parked there, most likely next to a loading dock. There were fresh tires tracks leading along a side road to them. He nodded to himself and strode forward casually.

The group of people from the warehouse, Crowley counted over ten of them in all, stopped short and watched as he walked towards them. They all raised their weapons at him, newer model MP-5s, Crowley noted, nodding in appreciation. He reached the site of the RPG's impact and looked down in the small, smoking crater, frowning. Something smelled....strange. He reached his hand in to run it along the rim, but pulled it back in sudden pain as it reached the steam. He looked down at his hand, which was reddened and immediately blistering, in shock and surprise. Normal steam shouldn't be able to....his eyes widened in realization as he stepped away from the crater as if it were a ball of venomous cobras. Holy water. The damned smoke was steaming  _Holy Water_ ..... He gritted his teeth and looked back at the hide from where the rocket was fired, anger and thoughts of even more revenge rushing through his head. The whole warhead must have been drenched with that stuff. If that had hit him....

He shuddered and pushed the thought aside.  _In due time_ , he thought to himself, new torture ideas forming in his head involving a pressure cooker and several  _gallons_ of Holy Water,  _in due time_ .

The group of people stared at him menacingly as he resumed walking forward towards them, meeting their eyes with what he hoped were absolutely epic levels of nonchalance.

“Hold it right there, Mister!”, shouted one of them, raising the sub-machine gun to his shoulder. “That's close enough!”

Crowley sighed and stopped short, raising his hands lazily in the air.

“Allright. You got me. I surrender,” he answered, equally as lazily.

The man that had spoken gestured slightly with the barrel of the gun at Crowley.

“What'dya doing here? And what the hell was that explosion?”

Crowley looked over his shoulder slowly, his hands still held halfway over his head.

“Oh, that? Family dispute, Nothing for you folks to worry about,” he replied, smiling back at him. “Now, I would very much like to speak to a man named.....”, he frowned and lowered one hand towards his coat pocket. Every gun trained on him clicked as they were raised into a steadier aim. Crowley looked up at them and raised his eyebrows, turning his other hand over palm first to try to get them to relax. “Easy now....I have his name written down here is all....” He reached into his pocket slowly and deliberately and pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper. He opened it with both hands and made a show of reading it, squinting at the name and mouthing it out before speaking and waving in front of him like a flag.

“Chuck Shurley. Is he available?”

The group shot nervous glances at each other, but did not lower their weapons.

“The boss?”, the apparent leader asked finally. “What'dya want with the boss?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just a chat, really. Won't take ten minutes of his time I'm guessing.”

“You from Kleenex?”

Crowley blinked in sudden confusion.

“..from....pardon me!?”, he answered, flabbergasted.

“Kleenex!”, the man spat back. “Jesus, don't tell me you never heard of them mister!”

Crowley flinched at the curse. That name involuntarily sent shivers up his spine. “Actually....no. I'm afraid I have no idea what you're blabbering on about,” Crowley answered, his head turned to the side. “But, I can assure you as well, I have no affiliation with this 'Kleenex' thing you're going on about.”

The man and a couple of the others looked at each other, their anxiety and nervousness ratcheting up exponentially.

“Bullshit, Warner” one of the woman hissed at the leader. “You telling me he ain't never heard of Kleenex? And that explosion? He's a hitman, I'm telling you. What's that make it? Ten tries in the last year?”

Their leader, Warner apparently, licked his lips and fixed his glare back on Crowley.

“Mister, I ain't buyin' it. Now, turn around and get the hell out of here, or we're going to blast you into Kingdom Come.”

Crowley looked around exaggeratedly and narrowed his eyes as he looked back at Warner.

“Um, Warner, I don't think that that particular Kingdom is coming, no matter how many people you shoot.” He lowered his hands and took a step forward. “Now, as I have stated, I am no threat to your 'boss', or to any of you for that matter. I have no affiliation with any of your perceived enemies. I just need ten minutes of Mr. Shurley's time. That's all.” He looked towards the building behind them. “So, if you don't mind.....” He started walking towards them again.

“Hold it!!”, Warner screamed. “Not one more step mister! Not. One. More!”

Crowley ignored him and kept moving.

“Fire!!”, shouted one of the group, and the sound of rapid-fire gunfire erupted immediately into the air, the echoes amplified against the metal siding of the closer warehouses around them.

When it finally stopped, Crowley looked down at his jacket and clothes and let out a sigh.

“....and here is  _exactly_ why no one likes coming up here,” he mumbled petulantly.”It's absolutely murder on a wardrobe.” He turned and fixed the now astonished group with a annoyed look, his head tilted to the side, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed at them. Smoke rose from the hundreds of new holes ripped into his suit and jacket.

“Seriously? Seriously??! You  _actually_ did it. You would  _murder_ someone who just came to talk?” He sighed and shook his head. “It's times like these that I truly despise humanity.” he turned his head, considering. “Or should that be 'admire'? Huh.” He waved his hand and every member of his attackers were flung suddenly and violently at least twenty feet into the air, landing in a variation of thuds and cracks and clatters on the hard asphalt. Crowley waited long enough until he was certain none of them would be getting up and following him anytime soon, and so that he had heard enough agonizing (not to mention satisfying) groans of pain and then walked through the warehouse door.

 

***

 

“You have  _got_ to be kidding me.”

Crowley stood with his mouth half open at the vast warehouse floor in front of him. It was the size of at least three airplane hangers and there were forklifts moving back and forth, foremen in yellow hard-hats shouting orders and directions, workers bustling back and forth rapidly like bees in springtime, and gigantic stacked shelves, row upon row upon row, stretching back further than Crowley could even see, and also piled almost to the five-story ceiling....

….of rolls of toilet paper.

He closed his eyes slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose, not trusting what he was seeing. But when he opened them again, the scene had not changed.

Toilet Paper.

He looked back over his shoulder at the open door he had just walked through, and beyond that to where the would-be killers that opened fire on him with everything they had....

….over  _bloody TOILET PAPER_ ....

Crowley snarled menacingly. He had half a mind to go right back out there and start kicking their prone figures. Hard. In very inconvenient places. But he had information to acquire. _Very, very important information_ , he reminded himself, stifling another growl. _Lucky for them_ , he grimaced, turning away from the door and striding into the warehouse, looking around.

It wasn't long before he spotted the office area. It was actually hard to miss. A large section of the warehouse had been cordoned off by thick glass walls, floor-to-ceiling, covering the full five stories. The walls were supported by gleaming brushed-metal beams, giving the whole area a very modern and dynamic feel. In golden letters at least ten-feet high in the middle of the structure were the words 'Chuck's Sensational Scrolls”, and below, in smaller letters, “Heavenly Quality in Every Sheet”. Crowley glanced around and found the same words written as a logo on the packaged rolls of paper all over the warehouse and shook his head slowly. Toilet paper. He shrugged his shoulders in anger and strode purposefully forward towards the office.

The secretary at the desk, Anna, her nameplate read, didn't even bother to look up from the magazine she was reading as he went through the lobby. Apparently, anyone that _could_ get past the machine-gun wielding lunatic posse was actually supposed to be there. Crowley glanced at the cover as he walked past to the glass-doored elevator. It was a 'Forbes', and on the cover was a smiling, bearded, middle aged man holding up a glowing (obviously PhotoShopped) roll of toilet paper. The headline read: 'Master of Disaster', with the sub-headline; 'How Chuck Shurly wove Toilet Paper into Pure Gold'.

Crowley growled again deep in his throat as he pressed the button for the top floor.

Toilet. Paper.

The doors opened onto a hallway with a white deep shag carpet. Crowley had a fleeting urge to wipe the mud off of his shoes on it, just for the visual irony, but abstained. He strode down the short hallway to a glass door with a small sign over it stating 'Chuck Shurley, CEO.” To the side was another sign saying 'Open-Door policy: Always in effect!', and next to that was a small white metal box with a slot in the top reading 'Suggestions”.

Crowley grunted and strode in, not bothering to knock.

The man that he had seen on the Forbes cover was seated behind a vast Italian white-marbled desk, with veins of gold running all through it, his feet propped up on it's surface. He was leaning far back in his leather chair and was on the phone. He glanced up briefly at Crowley, smiling, and raised a finger at him, indicating for him to wait for a second.

Crowley sat down in one of the plush white leather chairs in front of him, actually admiring the view from Chuck's office, which apparently was just over a vast and rather lush garden behind the warehouse. Crowley nodded to himself. Folks had to eat, and with so many farmer's out of business, private community gardens had sprung up everywhere. The sheer size of the one he was looking down on, however, could have fed a thousand people easily, just from the fruit trees alone.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Chuck was saying into the phone as Crowley was sitting down. “Of course, Messieur Premier, of course we deliver overseas. The only question is; how much and how soon do you want it?” He nodded, listening, looking at Crowley and giving him a knowing wink. Crowley smiled amiably and stiffly back.

“That much?”, Chuck answered, scribbling something rapidly down on a scrap of paper, grinning. “Nope, nope, no problem whatsoever, Messieur Premier, I can handle that. Pleasure doing business with you. Expect the shipment tomorrow.” His smile widened as a loud string of a very pleased sounding answer came from the telephone receiver. “You too, Messieur Premier, you too, Au-Revoir.”

Chuck hung up the phone and shook his head, smiling and looking at Crowley.

“Gold. Pure gold, I'm telling you,” he said to him, winking.

“So I've read,” Crowley replied evenly, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his chair.

Chick smiled back and pressed a button on his desk. “Anna, take this down, please....thirty-two tons. Toulouse. Tomorrow by noon. Make it happen.”

“Yes Mr. Shurly,” came the answer from the intercom.

Chuck let go of the button and leaned over the desk, offering his hand. “So, you must be my four-o-clock.” He frowned as Crowley shook back. “Um....excuse me for saying this, but....you really don't look Philippian....”

Crowley let go of the handshake and settled back in his chair, giving Chuck a smile with a lot of teeth showing.

“No, I'm not your 'four-o-clock' I'm afraid, Mr. Shurley.”

Chuck frowned. “Um...you're not...then who....?”

Crowley leaned forward. “You're Chuck. Chuck Shurley, correct?”

Chuck returned his gaze hesitatingly. “Um, yeah. Obviously.”

“The writer of 'Supernatural'?”

Chuck winced as if in pain and then nodded. “Um, yeah. But that was a long, long time ago, right? Before all of....this”, he answered, waving his hand around him in the air.

Crowley nodded. “So, you are the man I came here to see. That's good.” He fixed Chuck with a steady stare and watched as the little man began to squirm under the scrutiny.

“W-what about?”, Chuck stuttered.

“The books that you never published,” Crowley answered evenly.

“What are you talking about?,” Chuck answered weakly. “I..I published everything that I had. There just isn't any more....if you're a fan..I-I'm sorry about that, but I just don't write anymore.”

Crowley smiled back at him, not losing the shark-like quality of his grin.

“Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about, I think. I'm talking about the books regarding the War of the Seals. I'm talking, specifically, about how Dean is raised from Perdition. And, _more_ specifically, about why the Angel Castiel wasn't there to do it.”

At this Chuck paled, all of the blood draining out of his face. He swallowed hard and scrambled back into his chair, almost like he was looking for a burrow to go hide in.

“How do you....what the....who...? Wh---who sent you?! Who  _are_ you?!”, he squeaked back at Crowley.

Crowley stood up and leaned over the desk to tower over Chuck.

“Name's Crowley,” he whispered in a hiss. He blinked his eyes, letting Chuck see their true, full-red color. He let out a frightened yelp. Crowley nodded to himself in satisfaction and blinked again, returning his eyes to their 'human' state.

“So, where shall we begin?”, Crowley asked, his voice menacing, just over a whisper.

 


	5. Chuck and Crowley: The Next Story

# Chuck and Crowley: The Next Story

The intercom on Chuck Shurley's desk buzzed loudly, making Chuck flinch in surprise, as Crowley continued to patiently stare at him. Chuck had at least managed to uncurl himself from the fetal position in his chair, and was sitting more or less upright in it, leaning as far back as possible from the Demon, his eyes wide and unblinking, his breath coming in short, cautious gulps. He reminded Crowley of nothing so much as a goldfish staring out of a bowl. He smiled, which just made Chuck flinch again.

Never blinking or taking his eyes off of Crowley, Chuck leaned slightly forward in his chair and reached his hand out ever so slowly to the intercom button.

His finger shaking, he pressed it.

“Y-yes, Anna?,” he squeaked.

“Um....sorry, Sir,” came the secretary's reply. “Um, but is everything  _OK_ ?”

Chuck blinked at Crowley, whose smile widened.

“....of...of course it is...why do you ask?”

There was a long pause.

“Because, Sir, I could have sworn I saw your four-o-clock appointment go in a few minutes ago.”

Chuck frowned.

“Yes? And?”

“Well, Sir, he just showed up at my desk wanting to sign in.”

“Oh!”, Chuck replied nervously. “Oh, well,isn't that....”, he trailed off, his brow furrowing in desperation as he shook his head slowly, “um.... _weird_ ....?”

Another long silence.

“Sir, I'm coming in there.”

At that, Chuck turned truly pale. Crowley tilted his head, his amused smile not disappearing.

“Uh, no!, No! Absolutely no need for that, Anna!”, Chuck shouted rapidly back in the Intercom. “Please, it's OK, just tell the Prime Minister to hang on for a second, and I'll be right out....” When there was no reply, Chuck stared down at the intercom, puzzled. “Um, Anna? Anna?”

“I think you forgot to push the button that time, mate,” Crowley rasped, jabbing his finger in the direction of the machine. “Awkward.”

“Oh...oh no,” Chuck said, rising rapidly and running from behind his desk to Crowley's side. Crowley watched him in confusion. Chuck grabbed his shoulders and tried to hustle him out of the chair.

“Hey....hey!”, he protested. “Watch the suit!”

“No, you don't  _understand_ ,” Chuck sputtered. “She'll...she'll kill you!”

Crowley frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Who? The rather unassuming secretary? The one that didn't even bother to stop me when I just strolled in here in the first place?”

Chuck rolled his eyes and pulled at Crowley harder. Crowley obliged and got out of the chair. “Oh, she noticed you.  _Believe me_ , she noticed you. She was just trying to figure out what you wanted.” He put both his hands on Crowley's back and grunted with effort, trying to push him out the door. Crowley craned his neck back to Chuck.

“Son, hold on, just wait a minute, it's not like I can't handle myself, you know....”

He turned his head back around and stopped his forward momentum cold as he found himself staring into the secretary Anna's eyes, which were, inexplicably, only inches from his own.

“How did you.....?”, he began.

The next thing he knew, he was flying through the air towards the corner of the office. He hit the wall with amazing force, the drywall and even the stone cracking with the impact. He slid slowly down the wall, his head and ears ringing. He held a hand to his temple, looking up in utter confusion as Anna walked slowly towards him.

“ _Bloody hell_ ....,” he spit out slowly, feeling blood come out from between his lips. His eyes widened as Anna grabbed the front of his shirt and, with one hand, hauled him to his feet, and then lifted him a foot off of the floor before slamming him back into the ruined wall, rattling his teeth.

Crowley let out a groan and and looked at Anna again in disbelief. He squinted at her through his swimming vision. Anna regarded him with those cold, slightly shining eyes, her head tilted slightly at an angle, like a tiger considering a rabbit it had pounced on.

“What  _are_ you....?” he managed to rasp out.

“Um, Angel, actually,” Chuck said apologetically from Anna's shoulder. Crowley looked at him and then back to Anna, his eyes widening.

“Oh,  _bugger_ ....”, he whispered.

“Yeaaaaah....”Chuck said. “Those stories you were asking about? It turns out that I was a Prophet. Of God, or something like that. Once the freaking Apocalypse started, they needed all the Archangels on deck to fight the war. They gave me her to, what was it? 'Keep an eye on me', they said.” He sighed. “This isn't the first time she's done this, either. Um, Anna, please?”

“Sir, he's a  _Demon_ ,” Anna hissed in protest. “He should be put down.”

Chuck tilted his head, looking back to Crowley. “I don't know, should he?”, he asked to no one in particular. Rather glibly, in fact. Crowley narrowed his eyes. The little bugger had played him with that whole frightened act. He knew he had Angelic back-up the whole time. He didn't know whether to be highly impressed or if he wanted to strangle the bastard.

Chuck walked a couple of steps closer, peering up at Crowley. “Why did you need to hear about those stories again? Didn't you get the memo? I'm retired.”

He walked away to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey with no label and two glasses. He filled one and took a deep pull. Anna watched Crowley the entire time, not blinking or budging an inch.

“You see, once reality didn't follow the story anymore, the Angel squad figured my mojo or whatever was out of gas. So they left me alone. Well, mostly alone,” he muttered, glancing at Anna. He took another drink and winced. “Anna? Please let him down. You can stay if you want, but I can handle this.”

Anna sighed and opened her fist. Crowley crashed to the floor with the sudden and rather rude, he thought, return of gravity. He glared up at the Angel and got to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster. Anna stood over him, pointedly not looking at him.

“Bitch,” Crowley growled as he brushed off and straightened the front of his suit.

Anna's lip curled up in a wicked smile, looking him up and down.

“And then some,” she replied coldly. “What's your excuse?”

Crowley stared back and his own lip curled up in return. “Cute,” he said simply, moving past her dismissively and seating himself gingerly back in the chair in front of Chuck's desk. He moaned as his muscles protested and his head made the room spin a little. He settled back, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them and pointedly staring at the empty whiskey glass before looking back at Chuck.

“That for me?”, he asked, pulling a handkerchief out of his suit jacket pocket and wiping the dirt and blood off of his face.

Chuck smiled, not answering. He tipped the bottle over the empty glass and when it was full, slid it across the desk to Crowley.

Crowley took a sip and his eyes widened in surprise. He looked down at the glass and carefully, reverently placed it back on the table.

“That's Glencraig,” he said, smiling, looking up at Chuck. “Aged what? Forty years or so.”

Chuck shrugged. “It's a least thirty. I'm not one-hundred percent sure. But if you're going to drink whiskey....”

“...drink the best....”, Crowley finished, staring up at Chuck with a new found appreciation. He cleared his throat. “Look, about my entrance....I don't normally do this....”, he paused, considering. “Actually, scratch that. I  _never_ do this....but I'd like to apolo.....”

Chuck waved his hand in the air, cutting him off. “Don't even worry about it,” he said, taking another pull of his drink.”Like I said, this has all happened before.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, considering.

“Wait....you mean, that this isn't the  _first_ time a Demon has come around here asking for your unpublished stories?”

Chuck swallowed his whiskey and shook his head.

“Nope.”

Crowley leaned back. “Interesting.” A pang of sharp pain went through his neck as his back settled into the chair. “Ow.” He rubbed his shoulder gingerly. Bloody Angel probably broke something. He glared at her, and she smiled evilly back.

“So, who was it?”, he asked.

“A woman,” Chuck answered, going back to his chair and sitting down. “Well, a Demon, but it was a woman.”

Crowley shrugged. “Meat suits are arbitrary. Could've been a male Demon as well. Actually,” he said, leaning forward a little, “genders aren't really a big thing in Hell. We're....fluid like that.”

Chuck stared at him for a second. “Uh....huh....OK, right....,” he answered slowly. “Well, yeah, like I said, it was a Demon...um.... _disguised_ as a woman.”

“Get a name?”

Chuck shook his head. “Nope. Anna sent it running. It didn't want to stick around after it got thrown around a bit.” He frowned, and opened up a desk drawer. He fumbled around in it for a second or two and then pulled out an old knife, covered in runes, and placed it on the desk. It had a wooden handle and a curved tip, with the inside of the blade boasting a cruel, serrated edge. “She did leave this, though. Actually, tried to kill Anna with it. Didn't do her much good....um....what's wrong....?”

Crowley, on seeing the knife, had turned deathly pale, he involuntarily tried to lean back  _through_ his chair, and, failing that, broke out in a cold sweat.

“Do you have any idea what that is?”, he asked dryly.

Chuck frowned down at the knife. “Um....a knife....?” He shrugged.

Crowley nodded. “Oh, it's that all right....and more....a  _lot_ more.” He stared at it, and shook his head rapidly, clearing it. “It's Kurdish in origin, actually. Then it was for a short time in the possession of a Mr. Samuel Colt. He used it as a model for a more....modern weapon.”

Chuck's eyes widened as he looked down at the weapon again. “Oh....” he said quietly, his voice full of realization “It's  _that_ knife....”

Crowley's brow furrowed. “You know about it all of a sudden? I thought you just said....”

“....yeah, until you told me, I had no way of knowing that it was  _that_ knife!” He picked up his glass and drained the last of the whiskey from it before re-filling it. “I  _wrote_ all of this stuff down, remember?” He took another deep drink and put the glass back, letting out a deep breath as he leaned forward on the table. “But, you know? No pictures? I had a brief description in my book, but I mean, a knife's a knife, right?”

“Well, not that one....” Crowley said, watching the knife like it was a predator about to spring. He raised his eyes back to Chuck. “So, if you wrote all about it, I assume that you now know what it can do now as well, am I correct?”

Chuck eyed him nervously. “Yeah....yeah, I do.”

Crowley nodded. “And....if I don't leave, I'm going to get to witness it first hand, aren't I?” He looked pointedly at Anna, who was watching the exchange with renewed interest and curiosity.

Chuck shook his head. “Nah. Nah, I don't see why you should.”

Now it was Crowley at a loss for words.

“Might I ask why?”

Chuck smiled back. “Well, you weren't going to kill me, like that other Demon was.” He watched Crowley for a few seconds, the smile still on his face. When Crowley didn't return it, it began to fade. “Uh....were you?”

Crowley finally smiled back and drained the rest of his drink. “No. Sloppy. I don't do sloppy. The worst that I was thinking was strong-arming you into revealing what was in those unpublished stories. But no more than that.”

“Um, ok...well....that's.... _good_ then,” Chuck mumbled. “So, um, what was it you wanted to know?”

Crowley tilted his head, curious. “Just like that, huh? You're willing to just tell me?”

Chuck sipped his drink. “Yeah, why not? It's not like it'll do anyone any good. Like I said, reality split off from those stories, and it's not like anyone was reading the original series. And in case you haven't noticed, they're only buying and consuming a couple of things out there these days.”

“Food and drink?”

“And toilet paper,” Chuck replied amiably, his voice rising a bit. He sighed. “Pure gold. And I'm the guy hoarding it.”

“Uh-huh,” Crowley answered, unimpressed. “So, back to the story....”

“Right, right,” Chuck answered, waving the glass in the air, obviously a tad tipsy already. “Go ahead, shoot.”

“I don't suppose you have it actually written down somewhere?”

Chuck shook his head and tapped his temple. “Nope. All up here, I'm afraid.” He glanced at Anna. “Um, I actually  _can't_ write it down....”

“Why's that?”

Chuck scratched his head and winced. “You know, it's weird? I've actually tried it a few times, but I end up just staring at a blank page, or a blank screen or whatever. Sometimes for hours. I can't get my hands to even write down a single letter. Like, physically can't do it.” He shrugged. “The Angels explained to me that if isn't the absolute truth of how things will occur, then I wouldn't be able to....like I said, weird.”

“Not necessarily,” Crowley answered. “If a Prophet records the word of God, and it's infallible, then naturally, anything that you write, or attempt to write on the subject that is, by definition, 'fallible'....” he shrugged and poured himself the last of the Craig. “Stands to reason that you get an incurable case of writer's block.”

“And a headache,” Chuck frowned. “Really bad ones.”

“Bloody Angels,” Crowley muttered. Anna cleared her throat. Crowley gave her a tight smile and extended his middle finger along the side of his glass as he raised his glass in a mock toast.

“So, tell me, in your story, what happens when Castiel, not Zachariah, raises Dean out of Hell?”

“It was pretty cool, actually,” Chuck smiled. “Or, at least,  _I_ thought so. My editors weren't crazy about it when I told them over the phone....”

Crowley rolled his fingers in the air in front of him.

“Right,” Chuck said, clearing his throat. “So. Yeah. The Angel. Castiel, right? He kind of got really,  _really_ interested in Dean.”

“Really?”, Crowley said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Juicy. Which parts of him?”

Chuck coughed. “Oh, yeah, I meant....look, this was a  _mystery_ story, you know? And my editors didn't want....”

Crowley let out an audible sigh.

“Um, right. Yeah, well, mainly fascinated with Dean's ability to choose. To decide for himself. Castiel became obsessed with it. Anyway, long story short, he actually ends up rebelling against Heaven's plans.”

“Like Lucifer? He went rogue?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Chuck said. “He just figured out that Heaven was bending the rules and not being honest and all that.”

“Intriguing.”

“So, yeah, he helped Dean and Sam. A lot.”

“So, they stopped the Apocalypse then.”

Chuck winced. “Yeah.... _not_ so much.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it happened anyway....Sam gets tricked into killing Lillith....”

“Like it so far,” Crowley mumbled.

“....uh, yeah. And Lucifer gets released. But Sam never agrees to be his vessel, so he has to take a temporary one.”

“And Dean?”

Chuck shook his head. “Also never agreed to be a vessel.”

“So, let me get this straight....Lucifer gets released, but he can't fully manifest his power, because he doesn't have his true vessel, and Dean never lets Michael in either....explain to me, please,  _how_ in the world does the Apocalypse happen anyway?”

Chuck shrugged. “No, no, not the full thing. But Lucifer is kinda powerful still. So he released the Horsemen, to boost his power.”

Crowley let out a low whistle, tapping his finger on the desk. “Yeah, that'll do it allright.”

“And Heaven, having no other options, used another brother in the Winchester blood-line to house Michael.”

Crowley frowned. “But that couldn't have been a perfect match.”

“Heaven had no choice. The Winchesters came up with some hair-brained plan to trap Lucifer back in the Cage using the rings of the Horsemen....”

Crowley held up a hand. “And they  _actually_ pulled that off?”

“Um, yeah.”

“No wonder that never got published....”

Chuck winced. “Hey, do you want to hear this or not?”, he answered, protesting.

“Sorry. Please, continue,” Crowley answered with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

“Anyway, the plan backfires, and Lucifer ends up possessing Sam anyway. Like I said, at that point, Heaven had no other options left.”

Crowley leaned forward, frowning. “But with Michael at less than full power with a replacement vessel....” He looked up at Chuck. “How did that fight go? I imagine not so good for the power incumbent.”

“Oh, no, it ended up OK, Sam beat the Devil and then dragged all three of them into the Cage.”

Crowley sat back and blinked. “They....all got trapped in the Cage. Lucifer as well? Again?”

“Uh-huh,” Chuck answered simply, blue eyes blinking.

_Well, bugger me_ , Crowley thought. This would do him no good at all. There was nothing there that Lucifer could use to boost his power in the War. As a matter of fact, all it would end up doing would be to trap him in the Cage again. He would  _obviously_ be less than pleased with that. He tapped his chin, his mind racing. He'd just have to find a way to spin this to his advantage is all....maybe Attie could help....

“And that's it?”, he finally ended up asking.

Chuck nodded. “That's as far as I saw the story go. Sorry.” He eyed Crowley and smiled. “Did you get what you needed?”

Crowley sighed and began to get out of the chair before a thought crossed his mind. “Say.... actually, I did have one more small question. If you don't mind, that is.”

“No problem,” Chuck said. “You're actually one of the most easy to talk to Demons I've ever met.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot....”, Crowley murmured before sitting back down and looking back to Chuck. “The Demon that came here before me....she get anything out of you before she was expelled?”

Chuck shook his head. “Nope, not much.”

“What  _did_ she get then?”

Chuck shrugged. “She asked what the original ending looked like, when Sam and Dean freed Lucifer.”

Crowley felt a shiver along his spine. “And?”

“Well, as I originally had it, the Demon Ruby tricked Sam into killing Lilith....hey....wait a minute....”, he said, pausing, a pensive look on his face. He then got up and opened a sliding door to a bookcase. He pulled down a paperback book with a gaudy cover on it titled ' _Supernatural: The Magnificent Seven_ ', with a painted picture of two over-steroided male model apes on the cover in ripped up shirts. Sam and Dean, Crowley assumed.  _What a couple of gits_ , he thought to himself, watching Chuck frantically flipping through the pages.

“Oh, oh...yeah....ok....well then....there's.... _that_ ....” Chuck said, his eyes scanning a page.

“Want to share?”, Crowley asked, his eyebrows raising.

Chuck closed the book and slowly put it back on the shelf, turning towards him. “Um, you'll have to forgive me, my memory isn't all that good with that stuff”, he said, looking back at the closet. “I've forgotten half of the stuff that I wrote.” He sat down, letting out a deep sigh. “I mean, the stuff is so badly written, you know. I think I actually  _want_ to forget it....”

“Skip to the point, please” Crowley said, getting annoyed.

“Yeah, right,” Chuck said, frowning at the empty bottle of whiskey. “Um, you know the knife? The one the Demon that came here tried to kill Anna with?”

“What about it?”, Crowley asked cautiously.

“I think I know that Demon's name after all.”

Crowley leaned forward. “Really?” Now that  _was_ useful. If he could find that out, he had a big clue as to who was trying to kill him.

Chuck swallowed. “Ruby. The Demon's name was Ruby.”

Crowley leaned back in his chair, considering. “And she asked about.....”

“....her own death, looks like,” Chuck finished, resting his chin in his palm. “ After Sam kills Lillith, Ruby kinda mouths off at the two of them. Dean kills her. With that knife. Huh. Go figure.”

Crowley felt a smile coming on.  _Oh yes,_ he thought.  _If that's not motivation to stop me, I don't know what in all of the Nine Hells is. Now, all I need to do is track that bitch down and_ ....his eyes wandered back to the knife lying on Chuck's desk.

“Say Chuck, do you mind if I took out a loan from you? I promise, I'll be bringing it  _right back_ ....”

 


	6. Change of Plans

# Change of Plans

“So what do you plan on doing to her?”

Crowley grunted and looked up at Lilith, who was watching him interestingly from behind her desk as he paced, working himself into a lather.

“Something....creative,” Crowley growled back, turning the knife over again in his hand. He could feel the power coming off of it. He looked up at Lilith, who was smiling at him.

“What?”, he asked, exasperated.

“Oh, nothing. I've just never seen you so worked up like this is all. It's actually, I don't know, kind of impressive, actually.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows at her. “Was that a compliment?”

Lilith shrugged. “Might be. Of course, that all depends on what you do _next_....”

Crowley turned away and suppressed another growl of pent-up rage. “I thought that I had just told you that.”

Lilith's eyes twinkled. “Yes, but that was of course  _before_ you had all the pertinent information.”

Crowley stiffened and turned slowly back towards her. “What 'pertinent information'?”

Lilith let out a lazy sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Oh, nothing trivial.” She fixed her gaze on him and wiggled her jaw, her teeth clenched. “You really aren't caught up on the current political scene down here, are you?”, she teased him between her teeth.

“Well, gee, I wonder how that happened?”, Crowley answered, his voice dripping poison. “In my old job,  _boss_ , I barely had time to sleep.”

“Don't blame me for not finding the time for the important things in life.”

Crowley eyed the knife for a short time.... _contemplating_ . When he let out a sigh and looked back up at Lilith, her smile was wider than before.

“Oh, don't be that way,” she purred, standing up and walking over to him, her stiletto heels clicking softly on the hardwood floors. She reached him and gently stroked her fingers over the knife. She looked up at him playfully as he watched her.

“Besides, I'm not your biggest problem.”

“And what, pray tell, is?” Crowley whispered back.

“Her boyfriend, of course.”

Crowley squinted his eyes in confusion. “Her.... _what_?”, he asked, shaking his head.

Lilith let out a short bark of a laugh and moved away from him. She walked over to a white wooden cabinet installed in the wall and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. She poured herself a glass.

“This Ruby of yours,” she said, leaning back against the counter underneath the cabinet, “has been making quite a name for herself recently in the upper social echelon of Hell. Ladder-climbing, making friends, eliminating enemies, you know the routine.”

“Continue,” Crowley answered, eying her warily.  _What is she up to?_ ....his mind raced, trying to put a reason behind Lilith's sudden amusement.

She seemed to have sensed his thoughts. “Well, it concerns your project of course,” she answered.

“Not a big fan of it, I'd guess,” Crowley said, lowering his gaze.

“Hardly. Unfortunately, that's where her and her boy-toy disagree. Entirely.”

“And what of this boyfriend of hers? What exactly is there to be concerned about there?”

Lilith looked away. “Oh, he's....well....connected. All the way to the top, you could say.”

Crowley grunted in reply. “Powerful then, is he?” He held up the knife. “Strangely, I'm not feeling all that intimidated at the time.”

“That's the spirit!”, Lilith answered merrily, her eyes practically dancing. “Remember to be on your guard with him. That's all. And go get her, don't let anyone stop you!” She pumped a fist in the air at that and took another sip, watching him with unrestrained glee.

Crowley let out a sigh and charged across the room. He had Lilith pinned up against the counter, the Demon-knife to her throat before she could finish her sip of water. Her head slammed up against the counter and she spit the water out in a plume all over Crowley's face.

“Hey!”, she yelled in protest. “Ow.”

“Who is he, Lilith?”, Crowley growled pressing closer.

She blinked and met his eyes. “I just told you, powerful. But don't worry about  _him_ ....just go kill Ruby.”

Crowley didn't blink or budge, instead increasing pressure on the knife until Lilith gasped.

“No, no, no, that's not what I asked for, Lilith,” he hissed. “I want to know who. He. Is.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“Because you seem particularly eager to feed me to him is why,” Crowley answered. “And because if you don't tell me, I might get the idea to do a little 'social-climbing' of my own around here....starting with taking over this very office.”

Lilith's eyes widened a bit at that. “You're  _serious_ , aren't you?”

Crowley didn't bat an eye.

“Well, well, well, who knew I had such an oyster tucked away in my little muck-filled corner of Hell,” she murmured. This time, Crowley saw what he recognized as actual respect in her eyes. She relaxed and met his eyes. “Wow, let a little sunshine in, and your all business, not some sniveling paper-pusher....” She sniffed and looked Crowley up and down again. “OK, I'll let you know, but take that damnable knife away from my throat first.”

Crowley considered it for a moment, and finally relented, pulling back the knife and taking a step back, hands raised towards her palms out.

She sighed and composed herself before answering him. “Allright, Ruby. As I said before, she's been making waves. Right around the time that you received official sanction to research the War of the Seals, she started doing it as well.”

Crowley started at that. “What...two of us?”

Lilith shook her head. “No, she wasn't sanctioned to do it. Just as driven as you, however, regarding the subject matter. She said that she had discovered something, and that you should no longer be allowed to research the matter further. She announced openly that she would kill you if necessary. When Lucifer sent a messenger to tell her not to, that you were working on his own behalf, she well...”

“What?”

“She stuck him a Devil's Trap and dumped twenty gallons of Holy Water over his head.”

Crowley winced. “Ouch.”

Lilith nodded. “Yes, 'ouch'.”

Crowley cocked his head. “Lucifer can't have been too happy about that.”

Lilith gave him a tight smile. “To say the least. He sent a squad of Demons to take her into custody.”

“And?”

Lilith grimaced in reply. “It wasn't pretty. From what I've heard, the clean-up afterwards took a while, and Ruby walked away with hardly a scratch.”

Crowley let out a low-whistle. “Impressive.”

“Very,” Lilith agreed, pouring herself more water. “Lucifer was more than angry at this point, but his interest was piqued as well.”

“Was it?”

“Of course it was. A single Demon taking out an entire squad of them? In direct defiance of his own orders?That kind of thing will get you noticed.”

“Social climbing in Hell,” Crowley muttered.

“Exactly, survival of the bloodiest,” Lilith answered, nodding and crossing her arms.

“So what happened next?”

“Lucifer decided to 'test' her,” Lilith said, her mouth twisting into a half-smile. “He sent another squad, this time led by a Knight and a few Hellhounds.” She looked up at Crowley and shook her head. “It was uncanny. It was like she  _knew_ they were coming. Her defenses were perfect.  _Better_ than perfect. Demon traps, Holy Water, Salt, Iron, even Purified Blood, if you can believe that.” She hugged herself and shuddered. “That can take out even a Knight, believe me, I should know.”

“So, what did Lucifer do for the after-party?”

“Saved face, of course,” Lilith replied. “He couldn't have appeared openly weak, so he told the Court of Hell that he was upgrading his roster of Knights. Those that he deemed unworthy would be similarly weeded out. Then, to replace the Knight that he just lost, he gave Ruby the open spot.”

Crowley swallowed. “She's a bloody  _Knight_ , now?”

Lilith nodded. “Oh yes. She is.” She glanced at the Demon-knife in Crowley's hand. “That, however, won't save her from that weapon. Like I said, the real problem is her boyfriend....”

“Another Knight?”

Lilith shook her head. “ _Think_ , Crowley. This little Demon outmaneuvered and almost openly humiliated the Lord Of Hell in his own domain. He ends up moving her into his own trusted guard and ranks _because_....?”

“....keep your enemies closer....”, Crowley finished. His eyes looked at the floor, understanding washing over him. “And in this case, 'closer' means.....”

“Boyfriend,” Lilith replied, sipping her water and setting the glass down.

“Her boyfriend is bloody _Lucifer_ ,” Crowley murmured, his voice barely audible, “and you were just going to let me go charging in there after her?!”, he continued, his voice rising in anger. He looked up, eyes blazing. “You were feeding me into a  _meat grinder_ !”, he roared at her, fists clenched, his knuckles turning white around the handle of the Demon-knife.

Lilith blinked at him calmly. “Don't blame  _me_ if you would have been stupid enough to do it. I was trying to warn you, you know.”

Crowley clinched his teeth together. “And what would you have gotten out of it if he barbecued me?”

Lilith shrugged. “Well,  _someone_ would have had to continue your research. Logically, your immediate supervisor would have been a perfect choice.”

“You  _bitch_ ....”

Lilith looked at him, no remorse whatsoever in her eyes. “This is Hell, my dear Mr. Crowley. And you're playing with the _actual_ Fires that stoke it now. Better get used to the heat.”

Crowley met her gaze for a minute before turning on his heel and stalking out of her office.

 

***

 

_I need a new plan_ ....he thought furiously as he paced back and forth in his apartment. The Demon-knife, while powerful, would hardly be sufficient to take out a Knight of Hell in the Throne Room of Hell itself. Especially with Lucifer having a vested interest in keeping her alive.

He collapsed into a plush sitting chair and leaned his head back. He could try just telling Lucifer the truth. That Ruby wanted him to stop because she was protecting her own hide. The truth was a very powerful weapon, especially in Hell. The problem was, the _entire_ truth was, he had nothing to offer Lucifer in return. If the time-line were altered towards Chuck Shurley's vision, the Devil would be able to gain his full strength, true, but he would end up trapped back in the Cage.

He let out a deep sigh.

There had to be something there that he could use.

If there was a way to break Lucifer out of the Cage after he was returned to it, for example....it shouldn't be as difficult as breaking the Seals again, they had already been broken, and Heaven no longer had province over the Cage. It would take considerably less effort to do it, but still, it would require an  _incredibly_ powerful spell, and there were no witches that he knew of....that....could....

He winced in actual pain as a horrifying thought crossed his mind.

_Oh no, nononononononononononono_ , he thought, sitting forward in the chair slowly and burying his head in his hands, the inevitability and logic of his answer closing in around him like a steel trap.

Not  _her_ .....

 

***

 

“You want me to _what_?”, the Demon guarding the prison cells asked, eying Crowley warily.

Crowley looked back down at the piece of paper with the number scratched on it that he had gotten from Attie. He had asked her to access all records in the attempt to locate  _her_ . It turned out that she was being held as a prisoner in one of the deepest Pits that existed, reserved for creatures that truly had angered the forces of Hell. Rumor had it that they even had a couple of captured Angels down here. It had take Crowley the better part of four hours just to reach this place, navigating down forgotten pathways, winding stairwells and through several guarded checkpoints.

Not that he was surprised that she had ended up here....he was just wondering what in the world she had actually done to manage it.

“Prisoner 87453211, I need you to remand her to my custody” Crowley replied to the guard, reading. He looked up at him and put his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “If you please.”

The guard looked at him like he had just asked him for a gold-plated birthday cake.

“Um....no,” the guard answered slowly. “That is never,  _ever_ going to happen.”

“I see,” Crowley answered, equally slowly. “and what if I told you that I was under strict instructions from Lucifer himself to continue my research, with full access to whatever materials I might require?”

The guard smiled at him evenly. “I would tell you that the prisoners here in this particular ward were placed here  _directly_ under orders from Lucifer himself. And that he told me,  _to my face_ , that if I were to let any of them out, or if any of them escaped, that he would, and I quote, personally 'peel the skin off of my body one inch at a time, roast it, and eat it in front of me'.”

Crowley smiled back.

“I see, well, nothing for it, then.”

The guard settled back in his chair. “Nope. Looks that way.”

The knife was out of Crowley's jacket sleeve and in the guard's throat faster than he could react. There was a flash of burning Hellfire from deep within the Demon's body and smoke rose from his eyes as he let out a strangled and startled gurgle before collapsing to the ground, lifeless. Crowley withdrew the knife and shook his head slowly.

“Try to reason with some people....”, he muttered, wiping off the knife and stepping over the guard's body before taking a ring of keys off of the wall, and fitting the correct one into the large iron gate leading into the prison wing. He whistled softly to himself as he made his way down the hollowed out stone passageway, complete with sputtering torches. He shook his head sadly.  _How cliché_ ....he thought.  _It's not like prisons were never upgraded since the Dark Ages_ ....

He continued down the passageway, scanning numbers on rusty iron plaques by each individual cell for a match, when he felt a shiver down his spine, and heard a small scrape on the stone floor from behind him.

He spun quickly in a crouch, the knife held in front of him, and froze.

He was staring into deep red eyes with black irises, starting unblinkingly back at him from about twelve feet down the hall. They were at least five feet off of the ground, and the creature's head was actually bent  _down_ to glare at him. A puddle of drool dripped from it's mouth and bared fangs, hissing as it splashed on the floor. It took a slow step forward, a deep, thunderous growl building in it's V8-sized chest.

Hellhound.

_That bitch Ruby sent a Hellhound after me_ , Crowley thought, enraged.  _Oh, I can't_ wait _to settle the score with you little miss_ ...,

….he felt his stomach drop as he heard another scrape behind the bear-sized Hellhound, and then another one poked his head around it's hunting partner's body, fixated on Crowley. He noted the waves of distortion running all over their course fur - this spell made them all but completely invisible to humans and even other creatures, natural or otherwise, but had no effect on Demons.

It didn't make them any less deadly, though.

“Well, you're a couple of big ones, aren't you,” Crowley rasped, meeting the Hellhounds glare without showing any fear. Luckily, he had read a thing or two about them, and had an idea or two about dealing with them. Granted, he never expected to be  _hunted_ by them....but still....

The Hellhounds let out a growl of warning and took a few steps forward.

Crowley cast his eyes around desperately. The hallway was relatively narrow, and in this confined space, the Hellhounds would have the advantage, Demon-knife or no Demon-knife. He took a step backwards and another, trying to gain a bit of distance.

In a rush, the Hellhounds sprung.

Crowley crouched low and brought the knife up at the last second, the jaws of the massive beast snapping at his neck and head inches from their goal. It let out a startled, high-pitched yelp of pain as the blade sunk in, and there was a flash of fire from it's eyes as it fell.

Right on top of him.

Crowley let out a grunt and a huff as the air was driven from his lungs. He desperately dug his fingers into the dead beast's fur and tried to haul it off of him as he already heard the scramble o claws on stone of the other Hellhound closing on him.

It was like trying to move a pick-up truck. The corpse moved a few inches, then rolled and settled back over his chest and shoulders, pinning him in a half-seated position against the wall. He tried to raise his arm holding the Demon-knife, but it too, was trapped underneath the bulk of the monster.

He craned his head, wild-eyed, around the Hell hound's head to try to see the one coming for him. He noted, with alarm and a sense of inevitability, that there were more than two sets of red eyes there, the entire hall was, in fact, crowded with them, seven Hellhounds at the very least.

“Goodness, Ruby, overkill much?”, he complained irrationally, as a sense of horror washed over him. The nearest one lunged, jaws flashing and spit flying, straight for his immobilized throat. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away....

“ _Infrigiatus_ !”, came a woman's cry from somewhere behind Crowley. There was a wave of pressure in the air as something flew over his head and struck the charging Hellhound. He then heard the sound of something heavy hitting the ground and after that the angry growls from the rest of the pack. He opened one eye cautiously and saw that the Hellhound that had been coming for him lay on it's side on the ground, it's muscles completely paralyzed in mid-leap, as if frozen in time.

The pack scrambled forward in a rush, all determined to get the kill. Once again, the woman's voice echoed in the stone hallway.

“ _Deiaccu! Obsciensccius Meistromus Dem_ !”, she cried and the Hellhounds stopped running forward immediately, scrambling to halt with a chorus of little whimpers and whines before bowing their heads as one in obedience.

“Oh, that's  _better_ ,” the lilting voice cooed. “Good little dearies. Now, take that horrible thing off of him if you please.”

Two of the Hellhounds trotted forward and grabbed the dead one laying on Crowley by it's haunches in their jaws, dragging it off of him. He let out a sigh of relief as the quarter-ton beast was finally clear of him, and turned his neck to look up at the plaque on the wall above his head.

'87453211'.

He groaned.

“Feeeerggggguuuuusssss,” the voice cooed, as the red-haired prisoner strode forward to the front of her cage, surveying the scene.

_I should have let the stinking buggers rip my throat out_ .....

“Hello mother.”

 


	7. Sales and Marketing

# Sales and Marketing

“So lamb, you've done quite well for yourself,” Rowena crooned, running a finger along the back of one of Crowley's leather couches. She lifted her finger and crossed her arms, looking around the room and nodding approvingly. “Did you want to know something?”

“I can't wait,” Crowley grunted in response. He was seated on a barstool on the kitchen island, his head held up with one hand, the other wrapped protectively around a bottle of scotch.

Rowena smiled and sauntered over to him, leaning in close. “I actually didn't expect this of you,” she half-whispered. “I truly expected something else.”

“Oh joy, and what might that have been?”, Crowley asked, his disinterest seeping into every syllable.

Rowena, to her credit, kept a straight face. “I expected you to be face-down,tipped-up in a gutter somewhere, to be perfectly honest.”

Crowley smiled disingenuously. “How nice of you to say that, Mother.”

Rowena leaned back. “What? I never did truly expect much out of you is all.” She tapped her foot, her face pensive. “So, tell me,” she continued, “how did you pull this off exactly?”

Crowley watched her, not letting the slightest emotion show. He knew she would just exploit it. To be truthful though, the only overwhelming emotion he was feeling right now was frustration. Bone-deep, soul-numbing frustration.

“You first,” he replied dryly, the hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Rowena stared back, not answering, her lips curling in a smile.

Crowley sighed. “It isn't as if I haven't asked you five times since I sprung you out of that pit, Mother. And it also isn't if you have patently ignored the question those subsequent five times, either. Now, share. _How_ did you end up in there?” Bugger. The frustration _was_ actually seeping out.

She smiled. Crowley could sense the triumph coming off of her.

“And what's it to you, Fergus?”, she asked, arms still crossed and head tilting to the side. “It hardly seems to matter now, does it?”

Crowley nodded his head slowly. “I see.” He stood up and took the bottle with him, swirling the liquid within around a few times before placing it carefully back on the counter and turning to face his mother. He crossed his arms as well and regarded her before continuing.

“OK, fine,” he relented, after considering the situation. They were getting nowhere, and he needed to know if she could help him at all. Before the next assassination attempt happened, at the very least. Or worse, before Lucifer asked him for a status report on his work. He shuddered involuntarily at that last thought. His lack of useful information could mean- if he was _cosmically_ fortunate, that was - just a demotion. He couldn't even imagine the other possibles consequences of his failure.

“I need to report to Lucifer,” he finished, watching Rowena's eyes carefully. She was unable to stop the flash of interest in her eyes at the mention of the Lord of Hell's name. She quickly contained it, but Crowley already knew that he had her undivided attention. “And I need to know if the report I am to deliver to him will be....favorable...or not.”

Rowena shrugged, feigning casual disinterest. “And what do I have to do with that?”

“Word has it that you're a powerful witch from the High Coven,” Crowley answered carefully. “You may have some information that I need.”

Rowena met his eyes steadily. “And if I don't? What then?”

“Then I guess I will have to find someone _else_ to take to the palace,” Crowley answered, weighing her reaction. He noticed with satisfaction that Rowena didn't seem to spend a lot of time mulling over the offer.

“Well, then,” she answered, “maybe I _may_ be able to help you then.”

“What a universally stunning coincidence,” Crowley smiled sarcastically. “It's almost as if I _knew_ what I was doing breaking you out of there.”

Rowena shot him a look of scorn.

“So then,” he continued unabashedly, “tell me, what were you doing down there?”

Rowena sat down and crossed her legs primly, leaning back a bit on the couch. “Safekeeping,” she answered simply, not looking at Crowley.

Crowley frowned and lowered his eyebrows. “Sorry, 'safekeeping'? That's all?” Rowena did not answer. Crowley sighed. “Mother, I feel that you _may_ be leaving out some important details here.”

Rowena raised her chin a little before responding. “Well, apparently, Lucifer thought that I might be of potential interest to him.”

Crowley cocked his head, interest piqued. “And why is that, exactly?”

“I was just trying to help,” Rowena answered in a pseudo-protest. “Break the bonds of his Cage and all.”

At this Crowley leaned forward eagerly. “Go on.”

She glanced at him and blinked, then relaxed and smiled. “Well, now, the Cage....touched on a good topic it seems.”

Crowley winced. “Mother, I just told you, I had a _reason_ why I broke you out of there. Now, if you're unwilling to help....”

“Oh no, lamb,” she answered, her face suddenly darkening as she waved a finger at him. “If it has anything to do with that Cage, I want nothing to do with it. And I'd advise you to drop that line of thinking as well. Lucifer is more than a bit touchy about that subject.”

Crowley let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He ran a hand over his face.

“Unfortunately, its going to be for exactly that reason that I broke you out of there, it seems.”

Rowena stared at him blankly, showing no expression whatsoever. Then, without warning, she stood up, straightened her skirt and started for the door hurriedly.

“Sorry love, “ she said breathlessly, “but that's what got me in there in the first place.” She turned back, a pained expression on her face. “Thanks for the jail-break, son, honestly. But I think I should be leaving now.”

“Wait just a second, a minute ago, you were practically _leaping_ at the chance to meet with Lucifer....” Crowley sputtered, jumping up and trying to get between her and the door. They reached it at the same time, Rowena grabbing the handle, while Crowley leaned against the door itself, hoping to leverage it from opening.

“Fergus....I'll be brutally honest here, I was hoping that you had something that I could use to buy my freedom....but since you _don't_ , and are just chasing down the same rabbit-hole that I was with that damned Grimoire....”

Crowley frowned in confusion. “Grimoire? What Grimoire?”

Rowena rolled her eyes, letting her hand fall away from the door handle. “The Book of the Damned, Fergus! I sought it out so I could help Lucifer escape the final bonds of the Cage. Let him regain his full power. I thought he might appreciate that, you know what I mean? Repay the debt?”

“Didn't work out that way, I take it?”

“Hardly. He wouldn't hear of letting me use it. Said he 'needed to gather some information first',” Rowena glanced away. “Then he told me to just give him the Book. Wanted to do the spell himself I believe.”

“So instead of giving it to him, you ran....”

Rowena sniffed.“For my very _life_ , lamb. Also cooked up a little illusion that the Book burned up when I ran.”

Crowley nodded. “So he'd _have_ to keep you alive at least, you being the only one with any knowledge of what the Book contained.”

Rowena smiled. “Exactly. But now it appears that you cannot, in fact, help me.” She gave him a tight smile, glancing at the door. “So, if you don't mind terribly?”

“Actually....”, Crowley answered, pushing back against the door. “I do. I think that if we combine our efforts, we can both get what we want.”

Rowena blinked at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

“ _I'm_ the one that has that information that he was looking for,” Crowley answered, smiling. “And he's going to need you to pull that escape off, turns out. Won't be able to do it himself, as he'll be otherwise....contained.”

Rowena's eyes widened in pleasant surprise, a smile spreading on her face. “Ooooh, Fergus. Do tell, lamb. Do tell.”

 

***

 

The Throne Room of Hell was beyond spectacular, all things considered. The palace itself was made up of thousands of cruel, pointed spires, reaching to darkened sky above, painting a grim and foreboding picture to anyone approaching it. The blasted chasms of cracked earth spitting plumes of noxious sulfur on the road to the front gates did little to dispel that impression. Inside, however, was another story entirely.

Lucifer had constructed a majestic interior out of red-veined marble columns and a gold-black ivory floor laid out in a chessboard pattern. The main hall that contained the throne was vast, the tops of the columns unable to be seen. Large pillows were scattered around randomly, crafted of fine red velvet. Some were occupied with court denizens, either watching the various entertainment going on around the court, or indulging themselves in some of the more....physical sins infamous in Hell.

Crowley paid them no attention, strolling towards the throne like he owned it. The court officials, who grew denser denser the closer to the throne that he got, gave way, watching him intently, stopping their little conversations and activities. A few Knights also gave way, only more slowly, and regarded him with greater scrutiny. Rowena walked next to him, a book bound in the dried leather of human skin and adorned with satanic symbols tucked under her arm, her eyes shining, and head held high.

As they approached the throne, Crowley could make out a figure lounging casually in it. He was dressed in a white three piece suit, and had middle length sandy-brown hair. His great height was apparent even from the horizontal position he held over the ivory-black throne adorned with inset rubies in various grotesque patterns, and he had his head turned towards the ceiling, appearing to be studying something on it. Draped on the throne with him was a dark-haired Demon, her head resting on his chest, her hair falling all over him. Ruby, Crowley guessed.

When they were about twenty feet away, the figure on the throne lazily turned his head in their direction, his cool hazel-green eyes regarding them. He glanced over Crowley and then focused on Rowena, those eyes narrowing in suspicion. The figure swung his legs around effortlessly to a sitting position and stood up, the demon-girl rising with him in synch.

“You”, the figure whispered at Rowena, his eyes flickering down to the book she was carrying in front of her now like a shield. “Well, this is...unexpected.”

Crowley felt his insides turn cold. The sheer _power_ radiating off of this being....and this wasn't even his _full strength_...?

“Um....Fergus,” Rowena hissed under her breath, elbowing him. Crowley looked at her, stupefied. “Mouth closed, lamb, remember the plan?”

Crowley shook himself out of it, mentally scolding himself.

“Sorry, er, your highness.... _majesty_?” He paused frowning. “You know something, I don't believe I even know the protocol here regarding what to call you....”

Lucifer smiled. “I like to keep people guessing,” he replied smoothly. “It's better if they're already off-balance if I have the need to knock them over.” Crowley blinked at him and the Devil smiled back. “Call me whatever feels right to you,” he said. “I have a million or so names, after all, so I'm told.”

Crowley swallowed. “Right...er.... _sir_ . Now then, I believe that I have some information that may be of use to you.” His eyes traveled over to Ruby, who was staring daggers of hatred at him. Her hand clutched into Lucifer's arm, practically punching holes through his sleeve.”But perhaps it's best if we were allowed to speak to you in private,” he continued, meeting Ruby's glare with one of his own. “Some of the material might be a bit too _personal_ for some of our current audience.”

Ruby lifted up on her toes and whispered something to Lucifer, who smiled and shook his head, holding up a placating palm to her. She huffed and let go of his arm, crossing both of them over her chest disconsolately.

“Do you honestly think that I don't know what Ruby has been up to, Crowley?”, Lucifer asked, eyebrows raising. “Do you think that there's _anything_ that happens in my realm that I don't know about?”

“Of course, sir. As you wish.”

Lucifer nodded and sat back down in his throne, Ruby settling herself on his lap, still staring at Crowley as if she could cause him to spontaneously combust out of sheer will.

“Please, continue,” Lucifer said, holding out his hand.

“It's an angel, sir, “ Crowley said confidently. “The catalyst that you seek from the past was an angel. Name of Castiel.”

Lucifer frowned. “The name's....familiar, but it's....” he leaned back, closing his eyes slowly. “So very _long_ ago....yes, I seem to remember a Castiel.” He opened his eyes and fixed them back on Crowley. “Are you sure? How could a long dead angel affect current events?”

Crowley smiled. “More than you'd believe, sir,” he continued. “You see, if this angel had been alive at the time, he would have guided the Winchester vessels, and the botched job that Zachariah had made of things would have never happened. Sam Winchester would have granted you the use of his body, this time _without_ the pre-existing conditions.”

Lucifer leaned forward, hands together. “And you received this confirmation from the Prophet, I take it?”

Crowley nodded. “Of course sir. I had to be sure.”

“Smart move,” Lucifer said, leaning back, looking at Ruby. “And so, this brings us to the point – why would my beloved here be wanting to kill you so badly?”

“Because the new time-line would result in her death, sir,” Crowley answered quickly, not looking at Ruby. He could feel her eyes on him, though, still burning.

Lucifer smiled. “I see. Honesty. Interesting.” He looked at Ruby and she smiled up at him. He smiled back and looked back to Crowley. “And what does _she_ have to do with any of this?”

 _Here we go_ ....Crowley cleared his throat, preparing for the sales-pitch. _It's all about the delivery_ , he recited to himself, remembering his Crossroads-Demon mantra. _Don't give them a reason to say no_....

“Well, sir, there was one other...snag concerning this new time-line.”

Lucifer frowned. “And that is?”

“Well, sir, in this new time-line, the one where you would achieve your full power....you would have to go back to the Cage.”

Lucifer squinted at Crowley and then the Book. Ruby smiled in triumph. “See, I told you, honey.” She licked her lips. “ Can we flambe him now?”

Crowley waited....searching...waiting for the right moment....

He felt relief wash over him as he saw _understanding_ in Lucifer's eyes.

Checkmate.

“Yes sir, I can see that you understand,” he continued. “Once you're back in, Rowena here will be glad to accommodate your escape....er....that is so long as you can guarantee her safety and freedom to act, sir....”

Ruby face had gone from joy to ash-white disbelief, staring at Crowley. She suddenly stood up and hissed at him, spinning to Lucifer. “You're not _buying_ this, are you?!!”, she screamed. “He has _nothing, NOTHING!!_ We talked about this ....what's to stop him from letting you get trapped in that damned Cage again and leaving you there to rot, while he takes over Hell?! I told you that, remember? This little worm here,” she yelled, turning her head back to Crowley, “sets himself up as the _King of Hell_ in that time-line .” She glared at Crowley and looked back to Lucifer. “Also straight from the Prophet's mouth, by the way.” She crossed her arms and stared smugly back at Crowley. “That's right _sales-boy_....I've been on to your little power play from the very beginning.”

 _Well, Chuck could have certainly mentioned_ that _to me_ ....Crowley mused, admittedly a bit shocked. _King of Hell, huh_ ? He looked at Rowena and shrugged. _Time to play the Ace_....

“I honestly have no idea what she's on about,” Crowley said nonchalantly, stepping towards the throne and taking out a business card from his suit-pocket. “But it doesn't matter what my intentions are, in the long run. What does matter, sir, ultimately, is what _you_ want. And even if, apparently, I do end up setting myself in an....administrative position....in your _temporary_ absence, I would like to prove to you, without a shadow of a doubt, that that position is indeed....only temporary.”

With that he handed the card over to Lucifer with a flourish. Lucifer looked down at it and frowned, then flipped it over to the back. He read the handwritten note on it and smiled while Crowley studied the logo of Chuck's Toilet Paper industry on the front of the card, and then looked at Ruby, smiling like a lion about to meet a very lost mouse.

Panic set in on her face as she turned to Lucifer. “What....what is that...what does it say...?!” Lucifer looked at Ruby and then back to Crowley. Lucifer then smiled and shrugged one shoulder....

….and casually snapped Ruby's neck.

Her lifeless body slid to the floor, her head hitting the marble with a dull thud.

“Sold, Crowley,” Lucifer said to him, rising from the throne, letting the card drop onto Ruby's body. “Well done. Now let's see what we can do about keeping that angel from being killed, shall we?”

“What the _bloody hell_ was on that card?!”, Rowena hissed to Crowley in a whisper, clutching the book.

Crowley smiled. “Well, you know that Prophet, Chuck? He wasn't physically able to write any of the alternate time-line story down, because it wasn't per se, _reality_ , therefore _not_ the Word of God.”

“Yes, _and_?!”

“ _And_ , I needed leverage, and I needed to be sure I had an alternate plan, so I asked him if it was possible for him to write down something that would come to pass, even in _this_ reality.”

“And that being?”  
“'Lucifer will be fully released from the Cage with the help of the Demon Crowley'”, Crowley said, his grin stretching. “I needed to know if _that_ would have came to pass, too, or I would have gotten myself as far away from Lucifer as I could have, what with the news that I got from Chuck that Lucifer had to be imprisoned there again.”

Rowena looked at him, eyes wide. “Fergus.....that....that's....”

“Yes, mother?”

“Absolutely _devious_ ,” she practically purred, throwing her arms and the Book around him and giving him a giant bear hug. “That's my boy. Oh, I'm so _proud_ of you, Fergus!”

Crowley grinned back.

“So, where do we find out where Castiel died?”, Lucifer asked, reaching the two of them.

“Oh, I already know that,” Crowley answered, waving his hand in the air. “It was in Atlantis, sir.”

Lucifer frowned. “Atlantis....Atlantis? But there were no records kept of those events....are you absolutely certain about this?”

“Of course, sir. And there was a record, actually....read it myself,” Crowley answered, puzzled at Lucifer's reaction.

Dark clouds seemed to form around Lucifer's eyes. Crowley felt himself take an involuntary step back. Rowena did likewise, her smile melting away.

“No, Crowley, no there weren't. Like I said, there isn't _anything_ in my realm that I'm not aware of. I've already _read everything_ that's in those Archives. So, allow me to ask you again, _where did you read that_?”, Lucifer hissed, waves of anger coming off of his body.

“In....in...the _Archive_ , sir, it was right there.....well, no, no....that's not right, actually, the assistant, the assistant, _she_ gave it to me....just before you gave me the job....”

Lucifer's hand shot out faster than Crowley could see, grabbing him around the collar and dragging him close.

“ _What_ 'assistant'?! _There is no assistant in the Archives_!”

Crowley felt his knees go weak. _No...no.....then who in the Nine Hells was_....?

“Attie....”, he managed to squeak out. “Her name is Attie, sir....”

Slowly, that look of understanding crossed Lucifer's eyes again, and he let Crowley go, relaxing and nodding slowly to himself. Crowley watched him warily.

Lucifer took a calming breath and smiled at him, looking up. Crowley felt a chill run through his spine.

“Well, then. Maybe this 'Attie' and I ought to have a little chat, then, shouldn't we?”, Lucifer said, his eyes blazing.

 


	8. The Mole

# The Mole

“Might I ask you a question...er...sir?”, Crowley asked Lucifer, eying him sideways. The two of them walked together down the dark stone hallway leading to the Archives, Rowena just a bit behind them.

“Ask away,” Lucifer answered cheerfully and carefree. He was pensive though. He was attempting to hide it by whistling occasionally and humming to himself during their walk from the throne room. Crowley, however, was not fooled. He had caught Lucifer flexing his fingers and balling his hands into fists more than once since leaving. Something was bothering him. Something he did not want to share.  _Well, no surprise there_ , Crowley reflected to himself.  _Consider the source._

“So, what's bothering me is this; you  _knew_ that Ruby was trying to kill me,” Crowley began, pausing. When Lucifer did not fill in the deliberate gap he left with any further information, he continued. “Why allow me to continue my research in the first place? Why not just shut me down, feed me to the Hellhounds right then and there?”

Lucifer stopped and turned towards Crowley, towering over him in his freakishly tall vessel. He had a half smile on his face as he regarded Crowley for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly. “I doubled down, of course,” he answered, turning back down the corridor. “If you managed to actually avoid getting killed,  _and_ were able to bring me information I could use, I had nothing to lose.”

Crowley frowned. “Except your girlfriend, that is....oh, and a newly minted Knight of Hell.”

“You shouldn't let yourself get too attached to material things, Crowley, “ Lucifer answered without stopping. “They get in the way of personal growth.”

Crowley stared after him as Rowena shuffled past him in her long green dress, still clutching the Book of the Damned with both arms to her chest, a big grin on her face.

“Oh, he's so..... _alpha_ ....”, she chirped. Crowley watched her move on, a wave of Deja-Vu washed over, causing him to shake his head. He cleared it and hurried to catch up, as they were almost there. Lucifer's reaction to the mention of Attie was a mystery he really wanted answers to. And fast.

Lucifer didn't bother to knock when he got there.

As he reached the door , he held up his hand palm up. A wave of invisible force hit and blew it to splinters in the blink of an eye. Lucifer strode forward, fist clenched to his sides.

Attie was standing behind her desk, completely calm. Her mouth twisted into a half smile as she checked something off on her constantly present clipboard, not bothering to look up.

“Well, hello Lucifer, been awhile,” she said, sighing and glancing up at the remains of the door. “Still cool-headed as ever, I see.”

Lucifer stopped and smiled humorously at her. “'Attie', is it? You couldn't come up with something more original than that?”

“Worked, didn't it?,” Attie answered, glancing up and raising her chin in Crowley's direction as he came through the entrance. “ _He_ never caught on.”

“Caught on to what, exactly?”, Crowley asked, stepping slowly through the rubble. He cocked his head at Attie and narrowed his eyes. “Who  _are_ you?”

Lucifer smiled, not taking his eyes off of Attie. “Wanna fill him in?”

Attie smiled tightly back, not answering.

“Her name's not 'Attie', Crowley, but it's close,” Lucifer answered, walking forward to the desk. He stopped just in front of her, glaring. “It's Atropos, as a matter of fact. Ringing any bells?”

Crowley's breath caught. “Isn't that the name of....?”

“....one of the Fates, Crowley,” Lucifer finished. “ Ones of God's little minions, sitting  _right here_ under  _my_ roof!”, he said, grabbing the desk with one hand and sending it spinning into the Archives, rolling and crashing into a million pieces. His eyes burned with fury. “I should kill you for coming here....”, he hissed at her.

Atropos met his eyes calmly, not flinching. “Oh, you could, I suppose,” she answered. “But then you'd have to deal with the consequences, now , wouldn't you?”

Lucifer hesitated and a small amount of fire went out of his eyes. “He's probably not even watching anymore, you know that, right?”, he whispered angrily.

Atropos cocked her head. “You  _sure_ about that? Absolutely sure?”

Lucifer watched her, his eyes flickering back and forth rapidly before he squeezed them shut and let out a deep breath, turning away, his fists still clenched at his sides.

“What are you doing here, Atropos?”, he finally asked. “This has nothing to do with His 'Plan' as far as I can tell.”

“Annnnnd, that's where you'd be wrong,” Atropos said, looking down at her clipboard. “This has absolutely  _everything_ to do with His Plan.”

Lucifer looked puzzled. “What? Keeping me from my power?” He looked back at Crowley and frowned. “Then why help  _him_ ?”

“Actually, helping him is getting the Plan back on track,” she answered.

Lucifer's frown deepened. “Wait...you  _want_ me to change the time-line and get my power back? But that would mean....”

“....that this time-line is the false one,” Atropos answered, nodding. “Exactly.”

“Impossible,” Lucifer said flatly, waving his hand in the air. “Too much has occurred in this time-line. It's established. You Fates would have stepped in and repaired it by now. Isn't that how it works?” He looked back at her, brow furrowing. “Unless you can't....what is it you're not telling me, little Norn?”

Atropos' eyes sparkled, then she sighed in resignation. “You're....right,” she answered. “That's why I needed to use a surrogate,” she said, meeting Crowley's eyes. “Someone who was connected to the correct time-line. It's too far gone, too much damage, almost unrecoverable.”

Lucifer crossed his arms and leaned back against a wooden pillar. “That would take a very serious paradox, Atropos,” he mused. “An angel?”

Atropos nodded. “A particularly powerful one,” she agreed. “Castiel, it seems.”

Lucifer shook his head. “Couldn't be. He was a soldier, nothing more. He could cause a paradox, assuredly, but nothing on such a large scale.”

Atropos looked at her chart and read a bit. “He had a lot more power in the true time-line, it appears. More than enough to do this.”

“Then fix it,” Lucifer said, exasperated. “Now that you know where the deviation is, repair the timeline.” He cocked his head, considering Atropos. “Wait....you can't can you?” He crossed the room towards her and watched her carefully. “You wouldn't even be here still....none of us would.” His eyes narrowed as he leaned to within inches of her face. “What's going on then, Atropos?”

She crossed her arms over her clipboard and sighed, turning her head. “I....can't.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

She met his eyes defiantly. “I need your help, the time-line is....lost somehow.”

Lucifer shook his head slightly. “Lost? What do you mean, lost? What, you need me to travel back and change it myself?”

“It's not that simple,” Atropos answered. “You can't travel back either, any easier than I could. It's....just gone.”

Lucifer frowned. “You said you needed my  _help_ ....”

Atropos nodded. “I do. Let me show you.”

She grabbed his hand and walked over to Crowley and Rowena. “Link your hands together, we're taking a trip.”

“Where, exactly?”, Crowley asked, warily, reaching out and taking her hand. Rowena took Lucifer's and smiled up at him. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“To the Nexus of Time,” Atropos answered, and the room vanished.

 

***

 

They found themselves in a dark space, a wall of undulating crystal in front of them. As Crowley looked around, he saw that the place where they stood was actually nothing more than swirling darkness and unformed patterns. The side they faced was covered in crystals of various sizes, jutting from the unformed mists into an unending curve, swaying gently as if blown by a gentle wind. Some of the crystals glowed. Others were darker, or fading, while some seemed to gather light into them.

“What is this?”, he whispered.

“I just told you,” Atropos answered. “The Nexus of Time. Or as far as you can perceive it anyway.”

Crowley moved closer to the wall of crystals and stared into the glowing lights, watching them dance. “I can perceive it just fine,” he said. “Understanding it, however, is something else entirely.”

Atropos smiled and reached for one of the crystals. She pinched the light and began to pull. A thin line of light appeared between her fingers as she moved her hand away. She held it up in front of her face and it solidified, turning into a golden thread. She tucked it reverently into her clipboard and held it up to Crowley. “These are the Threads of Fate,” she said. “Each one represents it's own little life, it's own little reality. Look closely.”

Crowley leaned in and stared at the thread. He found himself somehow drawn into it....his eyes widened....

_Birth. A first breath....unresolved sounds...understanding....a cool caress....mother? Lives.....sound....music.....a million paths....choices...each one creating a new reality....new possibilities....rushing....tiredness....sleep....death.....the end...._

Crowley drew in a quick breath and stumbled back. He recovered himself and looked at Atropos as she studied him, smiling.

“That....that was....”

“A life,” Atropos answered. “A Thread of Fate. Each one containing near infinite levels of reality, of changes and fluctuations to the time-line.”

Crowley turned slowly to the glowing wall of crystals behind him, stretching into infinity, then back to Atropos.

“And each one of these crystals contains....?”, he began to ask, incredulous.

“An almost infinite number of lives. Of time-lines. That's what I mean by your lack of ability to perceive it. Only the most powerful beings can actually see it all.”

“Such as?”

Atropos shrugged. “God? The Darkness? Even the Fates, who's duty is to work with and preserve this time-line can't see it all. That's why I have this,” she said, holding up her clipboard. “It helps keep things organized.”

“The Darkness?”, Lucifer asked stepping up. “Is it possible that it corrupted the time-line? I thought it was locked away.”

“It is,” Atropos answered. “But there are infinite realities, and a being as powerful as the Darkness can manifest in any number of them. Hell, in one of them, it gets released and shows up as God's sister.”

Lucifer snorted.

She looked around the place. “No, I don't think it's the Darkness. One of it's servants, though.”

“What makes you think that?”, Lucifer asked.

“Let me show you.”

She started walking down the line of crystals, and the others followed.

Crowley found himself breathless. “So, each one of those threads....it's like what you showed me? A human life, interacting with reality? Changing everything?”

Atropos smiled. “Actually, what I showed you....that was a cricket.”

Crowley stopped short. “ A .... _what_ ?!”

Atropos' smile widened. “I told you. You can't perceive it.”

Crowley looked at the wall and slowly shook his head.

Atropos stopped and looked down at her feet near the wall. Crowley caught up and stood next to her.

“OK, you win, I can't perceive it” he said. He frowned and followed her eyes. “What are you looking at?”

She kneeled down and ran her fingers through the dark mist that made up the ground. They came back up with a charred, thread-like string that began to crumble between her fingers into gray ash. She looked up at Lucifer and Crowley.

“Is that....?”, Crowley asked.

She nodded. “A Thread. It's been burned out.” She stood up. “And it's not the only one. Something's been busy. Reweaving the Threads to make it's own reality. That's what made the paradox that Castiel caused so devastating. The Plan is terribly damaged.”

“What could even do that?”, Crowley asked.

“Something powerful,” Lucifer answered, looking around slowly. “And I think that it's still here.”

A deep, reverberating, echoing laugh came out of the swirling darkness all around them.

“I truly wish that you hadn't been right about that....” Crowley whispered.

“Show yourself!”; Lucifer shouted, his head swiveling around rapidly. “Or are you too afraid to face me?!”  
“Fear?”, the voice answered back. A shape moved slowly out of the darkness ahead of them, a robed-figure resolving. “What would I have to fear from you, Lightbringer? You don't even have a shadow of your true power.” Atropos took a step back and hissed between her teeth,

“Hastur.....”

The being drew back it's hood, it's face a mass of wriggling snakes and fire.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long,” the creature rasped. “We have so much to discuss.”

“What have you done here?”, Atropos asked. “The time-line....”

“Irreparably destroyed, I'm afraid,” Hastur answered. “I had worked....so hard....for so many millennia, to craft the events to free my Masters. And that....damnable Angel....”

“Castiel.”

Hastur nodded. “His sacrifice destroyed it all.”

“You're trapped here,” Atropos said, tilting her head. “Your plan backfired....and now you can't escape.”

Hastur watched her, not answering.

Lucifer drew in a breath between his teeth. “Ooooooh, not good,” he said, shoving his hands in his pocket.

“What's that, then?”, Crowley asked, looking over to him.

“It means that we're on the same mission as snake-face over there,” Lucifer answered staring down Hastur. “Isn't that right?”

“Meaning?”, Crowley asked.

“It means that if we restore the time-line and bring Castiel back....”

Crowley felt a chill as realization settled in. “....then Hastur's plan goes back into motion....”

Lucifer nodded. “....and his Masters get released.” He glanced at Crowley, nodded and then looked back to Hastur and shook his head. “That's  _not_ happening, Old One.”

“That  _has_ to happen,” Atropos whispered gently from behind them. Hastur grinned a hideous, sharp-toothed smile.

“ _Excuse me_ ?”, Lucifer asked, spinning towards her. “Do you have any idea what that thing can do? If his Masters get set free....”

Atropos shook her head and lowered it. “I know that....don't you think that I know that?” She sighed. “It's Fate itself, Lucifer. It's the only time-line that should exist....that  _can_ exist.”

“His Masters will undo the Universe, His 'Plan' included, Atropos!”, Lucifer shouted at her, waving his arms. “That can't be correct!”

Atropos turned her eyes towards Hastur, cold-fury burning inside of them. “I'm afraid it is,” she replied. “We have to bring the Angel back, undo the paradox, and restore the time-line.”

“Well, don't expect me to help you,” Lucifer hissed at her, furious. “I can win my war without your help.”

“Your war with Michael is ripping the entire Universe apart all by itself,” Atropos replied calmly. “You're doing it's work for it.”

Lucifer glared at Hastur, who smiled back.

“Come now, Lightbringer, let's work together for a change, shall we?”, Hastur mocked from the shadows.

“Go to Hell,” Lucifer snarled, holding out his hand and sending a glowing wave of power at the creature.

It came to within a few feet of him and simply....dissipated, the light darkening, fading and disappearing into nothing.

“You can't hurt me here, Lucifer,” it said. “We are balanced sides of the same coin, you and I.”

Lucifer let loose a series of blasts, one more powerful than the next, with the exact same result, before finally sagging and running his hand through his hair in frustration. He looked at Atropos and Crowley, and reminded Crowley of nothing so much as a petulant child, not able to get his way.

Crowley sighed. “Attie, a moment, if you please?”

Atropos looked at him, her face resigned, and nodded.

“What is it, Crowley?”, she asked in hushed tones.

“I think there might be a way to make this work,” he said simply. “A way that gets everyone what they want. Well, with the exception of gorgeous over there,” he finished with a nod in Hastur's direction.

She frowned at him, puzzled. “How's that?”

“Something that I read once,” Crowley answered, smiling and letting out a deep breath. “Something that you, in fact, gave me....'something different', I believe you called it.”

Atropos looked at him, and a slow smile of understanding began to appear on her face.

 


	9. Executive Decision

# Executive Decision

“You want to to do  _what_ , now?”, Rowena asked in protest, staring wide eyed at Crowley, then at the endless wall of crystals in apprehension. “How am I supposed to find something like that?”

Crowley cast his eyes downwards and sighed heavily. “Mother,” he said, exasperated. “You are a witch. Grudgingly, a very powerful one. Furthermore, you are carrying the single most powerful book of spells ever collected – that you're clutching to your chest like a life raft, as a matter of fact....”. Rowena glanced down, seemingly haven forgotten that. She nodded slowly. “Surely you can manage a simple location spell?”, Crowley finished.

Rowena gulped, and scanned the wall of crystals again, wide-eyed. “Fergus, the time-lines are  _infinite_ here....and they're constantly changing. You know how location spells work, I take it? They are supposed to find a  _specific_ item or person...but  _this_ ...” she said, waving her hand in the air in an arc, indicating the wall. “I have no idea....”

“It won't work anyway,” Hastur hissed, moving closer to the group. Thankfully, he had transformed his writhing personage into something more human to match the current company. He had adapted the visage of a young man somewhere in his early-twenties with a thick southern accent for some reason. Crowley glanced at him and found himself shivering all the same, human face or not.

“And why do you say that, Mr. Defeatist?”, Crowley asked him, annoyed. “Haven't even tried it yet.”

Hastur smiled toothily. “Because my Masters and I have destroyed all the pertinent time-lines already, locating and activating the correct ones according to our needs.” He knelt down by way of demonstration and pinched some of the gray dust of a burned out time-strand, rubbing it between his fingers and letting it fall back to the ground. “There is nothing left to connect or rebuild the time-line that you seek. You will simply have to try something else.”

Crowley frowned, looking to Atropos, who was busily writing and checking her clipboard, occasionally looking up at the wall of crystals and frowning to herself.

“Is he right about that?”, Crowley asked.

Atropos pursed her lips, pensive. Finally she shook her head. “I'm not sure. Probably. Even with infinite possibilities, if you eliminate enough variables related to a specific time-line, it can be virtually erased.”

Crowley pinched his nose. “Great. So, did you have something to suggest, oh Dark-and-Powerful-One, or are you satisfied to just sit there and dash our hopes at every turn?”

Hastur's smile grew as he walked over to the wall of crystals and peered into them. He held up his hand and there was a deep rumbling and shaking in the entire dark, misty area. The wall shifted, then began to move at an incredible speed sideways, then down, then up, then spinning counter-clockwise and then the other direction, growing shrinking, every possible method of movement that seemed perceivable. Crowley felt himself getting dizzy trying to follow it. Finally the wall of crystals began to slow, and it ground to an audible, booming halt. He scanned the wall for a time and then straightened up satisfied. He then held out his hand, pointing at a specific crystal.

“This should do nicely,” he half-purred, half -hissed.

Atropos and Lucifer stepped towards the wall and peered in. Crowley watched as the blood drained out of Atropos' face. Lucifer began to chuckle slowly to himself. They both slowly looked away from the wall and turned to face Hastur.

“You have  _got_ to be kidding me,” Lucifer said simply.

Hastur shrugged innocently. “You wish to restore the Angel, therefore regaining your power. I should get what I want as well. It is an even trade.”

Atropos shook her head vigorously. “While I will admit that the event that you have selected will accomplish both things, I simply will not allow....” she stopped frowning, looking back to the crystal and then slowly back to Hastur, her brow furrowing. “Why...” she began. “Why haven't you done this yourself?”

Hastur shrugged again, the corner of his lip curling up.

“Answer me, please,” Atropos prompted, stepping closer and peering closely at the Old One. “You and your Masters have done so much damage to the time-line already. What's to prevent you from activating this scenario yourself, letting your Masters free?”

Hastur turned his head away from her gaze.

“He can't,” Lucifer said, breaking the tense silence. He had his head cocked to the side and was considering Hastur much like a bird watched a worm squirming on the ground. “You've painted yourself into a corner, haven't you?”

Hastur didn't answer, instead turning furious eyes towards Lucifer, daring him to continue. Lucifer smiled, accepting the challenge.

“The Angel Castiel's sacrifice, it destroyed their only way out,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. He turned to the crystal and peered deep into it. “This one would change the conditions of their imprisonment. Instead of Purgatory and it's sealed gates, this time-line is contingent on the Darkness being contained only by the Mark of Cain.” He squinted, peering deeper into the crystal. He smiled as the glowing golden light played over his features in the darkened cavern. “Way to go, Dean Winchester....”, he whispered, straightening up and turning back to them. “In this one, curiously enough, we get the manifestation of the Darkness as God's 'sister', as you mentioned before, Atropos.” He shook his head in amusement. “And I thought you were joking with me about that....I mean, _gender-roles_ for God and God-like forces....seriously?” Atropos smiled back and checked something on her clipboard before looking back up. Lucifer looked back at Hastur. “The Old Ones use that to manifest in the earthly realm, skipping the lock, because the Mark is temporarily rendered useless, when Dean Winchester strikes down Death itself with it's own sickle.” He shook his head again. “Nice one. What I don't get is that this whole time-line here is contrary to the universal paradox that Castiel created by destroying himself. How did this one escape?”

“I think I can answer that,” Atropos replied. “This time-line that Hastur found is based on a work of fiction, a fantasy story. In principle, it's kept viable and constant by it's creators and followers. It can't be eradicated or forgotten, short of destroying the entire universe.” She glanced back at the crystal and sighed almost reverently. “And that's why he can't access it either. He doesn't even  _exist_ in that time-line. Not at all. He needs us to 'write him in', to coin a phrase. And since  _we_ all actually exist there, we're the only ones that can do it for him.” She clicked off something on her board, and shook her head, smiling. “Am I right?” When she got no answer, she just smiled at him. “Sorry, Hastur, that's never going to happen.” She then sighed and looked to Crowley. “We're almost out of options here.”

Crowley nodded. “Mother?”, he asked, looking at Rowena. “That location spell, if you please.”

 

***

 

Rowena finished the last symbol on the blackened, misty floor. Surprisingly, the drawings kept their form there, even thought the entire surface seemed completely ethereal and insubstantial. Crowley studied it and walked over to her, kneeling beside her.

“I still don't think this will help, Fergus,” Rowena sighed.

“Now, now, it's a good spell. It's just missing one thing is all.”

Rowena frowned. “What are you talking about? The spell is perfect.”

“You're missing a starting location,” Crowley said, smiling tightly at her.

“What do you mean?”

Crowley leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Rowena's eyes widened, then she squinted at him. “Are you sure about that?”

“Read it in a book once,” Crowley answered, shrugging. Hastur had moved over closer to them, interested in their discussion. Rowena shrugged and scratched another symbol into her spell. It resembled beams of light over a few buildings. She then drew a few symbols like waves over them.

Hastur frowned, looking at Crowley. “Atlantis?”, he asked, puzzled. “Where the Angel sacrificed himself? We already know that he isn't going to be there. Or, at least, the version of him there just ends up dead.”

Crowley stood up and stood in front of Hastur. “Trust me on this,” he said, smiling.

Hastur snorted. He then turned away and then swiftly back to Crowley, moving inches from his face, a threatening sneer on his face.

“Do not even think that I would ever trust  _you_ , Demon?”, he snarled, glaring into his eyes. “Do you think I'm an idiot?”

Crowley shrugged in way of reply.

Hastur grabbed him by the coat and shoved him violently up against the wall of crystals. Rowena stood up, protesting. “Hey!”, Lucifer shouted, moving over and grabbing Hastur by the arm, beginning to drag him back. Crowley held up a free hand palm up, waving Lucifer down, shaking his head no to pacify him, before looking back at Hastur.

“Don't dare think for an instant that I don't know you, Demon,” Hastur hissed at him. “I've seen your soul and your actions in a countless number of these crystals. I've seen you lie, deceive and connive your way through a  _thousand_ different lifetimes. _I know you_ . You think to trick me? You think that you can rescue the Angel back in Atlantis?” He shook his head, closing his eyes and smiling bitterly. “ _You_ have no chance. Because you,  _this_ Crowley that I have in front of me, is nothing but a shadow of the true Crowley. Not a powerful Demon, not a leader of soul collection, and  _certainty_ not a  _King of Hell_ . No. You will not succeed here because the Crowley that I have before me is nothing more than a lowly, hopped-up  _office drone_ . So. Take your best shot, Demon.  _Try_ to trick me. Maybe, just maybe, you'll get lucky and not anger me any further in the process.” At that, he let Crowley down, glaring at Lucifer, who still gripped his arm. He looked at Lucifer's hand, who, with a tight-lipped smile, released the arm with an exaggerated flourish. Hastur sneered at him before swiveling his head back around to Crowley. “If you  _do_ succeed here and get the Angel back, maybe I'll get you a plaque. How does 'Employee of the Week' sound?”

Crowley met his eyes and looked away, then down at his shoes.

“I thought so,” Hastur growled, stalking away.

A long silence followed. Crowley could feel the others watching him. He let out a deep sigh.

“Fergus....?”, Rowena asked hesitantly.

“Just....start the spell, Mother,” Crowley whispered, walking slowly away.

 

***

 

The sigils glimmered and glowed. A small, whining noise was in the air, and the golden light at the center of the spell, the one that would lead them to their goal, stood directly in the center of the spell form.

And had not moved in hours.

Lucifer let out yet another frustrated huff and paced like a caged tiger around the wall. Hastur watched him, eyes glittering with amusement.

“I told you it wouldn't work,” he said, for at least the fourth or fifth time.

Lucifer snarled and looked at Crowley. He then stalked over to him. Crowley met his eyes defiantly.

“What? You on  _his_ side?”, he said, eyes flicking towards Hastur. “You also thinking that the 'jumped-up office worker' is out of his depth?” Crowley sighed and looked away. “Maybe I am.”

Lucifer continued to stare at him, not blinking.

“Not good enough,” he growled, once Crowley was looking at him again. Crowley shook his head.

“What else do you want me to do here?”, he asked, frustrated. “I found the anomaly. I found the means to set things right. I couldn't have known that the Old Ones here in all their wisdom had so thoroughly destroyed the time-line....in retrospect, I should have know, considering that's what they're best at.” His shoulders slumped and he turned away. Rowena watched him with a concerned gaze, then turned back to her spell, willing more energy into it.

“I thought it would work. Go back to the place where Castiel sacrificed himself. Stop him from doing it.”

“And then what?”, Lucifer asked after a moment had passed.

“Excuse me?”

Lucifer walked over and leaned against the wall of crystal with his shoulder. “And then what? You save Castiel, and the time-line resets itself. From what you and Ruby told me about that particular place, the way to Purgatory would still be left open. The Old Ones were still going to break their Masters out....what were you planning to do to stop that?”

Crowley shrugged. “Hadn't gotten that far yet.”

Lucifer shook his head. “Not good enough yet again, Mr. Crowley.” He sighed and crossed his arms over chest before continuing. “You want to know something? The only thing separating you from those versions of yourself that Hastur was ranting about, is the ability to think ahead. To plan. Something in your interactions with Castiel in that other time-line caused you to start thinking differently, to be less reactionary, more careful.” He looked back at Hastur, seemingly making sure they were out of earshot. “What happened on that ship back in Atlantis? Tell me what you read.”

Crowley blinked, looking over Lucifer's shoulder to make sure Hastur wasn't listening as well, then nodded. “The Emperor of Atlantis killed Gabriel, then Castiel killed his past self there, near as I can figure.”

Lucifer frowned. “Gabriel? What would Gabriel be doing there?”

Crowley shrugged. “The account didn't say. Just that Castiel and Gabriel were chasing the Emperor across the sea. They fought, and the Emperor killed Gabriel. In 'fair combat', the book said.”

Lucifer frowned. “Unlikely. It would take a being of incredible power to destroy an Archangel. Gabriel was probably faking it. He's good at that.”

Crowley was staring blankly into space.

“Crowley?”, Lucifer asked. When there was no answer, he repeated himself, louder. “Crowley!”

Crowley blinked, shaking himself out of his reverie. He rushed past Lucifer to Atropos, who was studying the crystals,. She turned from her studies and straightened up at his approach.

“Atiie, please tell me that you have that account of Castiel's death somewhere on that damnable clipboard of yours,” Crowley practically shouted.

Attie frowned and looked down. “Of course I do. Everything in recorded - or even unrecorded - history can be accessed from....”

“Just show me!”, Crowley exclaimed, moving to her shoulder. Attie watched him, then with a small shake of her head, turned to her clipboard and tapped on it with her pencil. The writing that was there melted away, and was soon replaced with the flowing script of the Atlantian history that Crowley had read before. His eyes scanned the text wildly.

“It's not there....” he whispered frantically.

“What's not there?”, Atropos asked.

“The Emperor....why was he so powerful? It mentions his 'rage' and his 'true-form', but it never says what that form is.”

Attie frowned and looked down at the text, flipping pages. “You're right....that's strange. It should be listed here somewhere, it's not even in any side-note. Why is that important?”

“Because he was strong enough to kill an Archangel is why....”, Crowley growled. “If it's who I think it was....”

“Who?”, Atropos asked, watching him intently.

“Someone who had an interest in being in Atlantis at the time when the gate to Purgatory was opened. Who's whole plan got thrown into chaos when Castiel purposely created that paradox. Who was strong enough to defeat an Archangel in single combat.”

Crowley looked over her shoulder and nodded in Hastur's direction.

Atropos followed Crowley's gaze, then back at her notes. She scanned over page after page and a smile began to grow on her face.

“You see?”; Crowley whispered excitedly. “I was so focused on _how_ to stop Castiel from doing what he did, that I never stopped to think about _why_ he thought that he had to do it. And why exactly then and there, on that Atlantian ship.”

“Oh, Crowley....I think you're right....”, she half-whispered.

Crowley frowned. “What? I thought you said it wasn't there....I have to be certain about this....”

“Do you happen to know what Hastur's title is?”, Atropos asked, her eyes now twinkling.

“”What?”

“The Un-nameable,” Atropos answered.

Crowley looked down at the clipboard and smiled. He then rushed over to Rowena.

“Mother, I need you to stop looking for Castiel.”

Rowena blinked in surprise. “What? Who do you want me to look for then?”

Crowley's head turned slowly towards Hastur, a plan – a glorious plan – forming in his head.

“Him,” he said, not looking at his mother. “We're looking for him.”

 


	10. Hostile Takeover

# Hostile Takeover

“Sir, Lucifer is up to something.”

Michael sighed at the interruption. He had been studying the battlefield map carefully – actually for the last three hours, and he thought he was beginning to see a hole opening up in the front near Kansas that he could exploit. His brother's defenses had been uncharacteristically sloppy and uncoordinated in the last few days.

_Of course_ he was 'up to something'.

“When is he not, Uriel?” Michael replied, turning a cool gaze on the Angel that had entered the War Room.

Uriel swallowed hard and straightened up, his face not betraying an ounce of emotion.  _Good....good soldier_ , Michael thought absently, studying him. He let a not insignificant amount of time pass before answering, silently conveying that he was less than amused at being disturbed like this.

“Well?” he asked at last, the annoyance not diminishing in his tone. “Are you planning on giving me any details about it, or is your random outburst supposed to suffice?”

Uriel blinked and Michael sighed inwardly, waiting for him to respond. It wasn't uncommon for a certain degree of respect – and even awe – to come over his soldiers, even high-ranking generals like  Uriel - when they met with him in person. After all, Michael was the new God, and while he took a  _much_ more  active role in interacting with his Angels than his Father ever had, he still demanded a sense of propriety and even danger for being in his presence. So, Michael waited patiently. 

Uriel visibly gathered himself in the ensuing silence.

“My Lord,” he finally began speaking, his baritone carrying in the marble-walled room. “Reports are that he has left Hell itself. He has not been seen or heard from in at least a day or two, on Earth or anywhere near his Throne.”

Michael frowned, considering. This actually  _was_ unusual - and potentially very useful – news.

“These reports are accurate?”

Uriel nodded. “One-hundred-percent, my Lord. The reports were delivered from our most trusted operatives.”

Michael's felt a sour taste in his mouth. 'Trusted operatives' still meant Demons. Demons that his brother had crafted from the stuff of the Darkness itself – soulless creatures of pure evil, mimicking and befouling his Father's Creation. Still, they were, by their very nature, especially corruptible, therefore malleable. They had been bought and payed for, and the reports were, as Uriel insisted, very likely highly accurate.

He leaned over the large oval table that dominated the War Room, considering.

“That would mean that Hell itself is chiefly unguarded,” he murmured, musing. He looked up at Uriel.

“While the Legions of his Demons are still formidable, my Lord, there has never been an opportunity like this.”

Michael felt a smile creeping over his face.

“Nor is there likely to ever be another.” He stood up from the table and walked over to Uriel, clapping a hand to his soldier. “It doesn't matter where my brother has gone, or what advantage he thinks to gain from it. If we remove his seat of power, he will be crippled – summon the Host, Uriel.”

Uriel met his eyes, smiling. “Which units, my Lord?”

“All of them, of course.”

 

***

 

“Did he see that?” Crowley whispered to his mother, glancing nervously over at Hastur, who was studying the wall of crystals, staring deeply at the myriad resolving time-lines within. He was still focused in the area around the time-line that he had selected and shown them – the one where the Darkness had been released. The creature was mostly smiling, and  _humming_ , quietly to itself and paying them no attention, letting the tracking spell run it's course. Crowley shuddered. Creepy bugger.

No matter, his mother had scratched out the loci of her tracking spell, replacing the symbol for the Angel Castiel with that of the Old One Hastur. The spell was activating fully again, re-aligning with it's new target, the runes glowing red, the energy at it's center quivering and shaking.

Rowena shot a quick glance up at Crowley and shook her head 'no' quickly. Hastur had not noticed, he was simply waiting for the spell to find any trace of Castiel to fail. Then they would have no choice but to help it achieve it's desired goal.

Trapped.

Crowley  _hated_ being trapped. It was wholly unacceptable to be out of options. There was always a way out. Always.

With Atropos' and Lucifer's help, he had had the realization that Hastur himself had been there at the time of Castiel's death – the point where the paradox had occurred, shifting the time-line to the one that existed now. While Castiel had fundamentally disappeared from every point in time, due to the catastrophic paradox that he had created, Hastur had not. If he could locate exactly where the beast had 'Kurt Vonnegut-ed' itself into the time-line, he could find the event in question....and then....

Crowley frowned. What exactly  _did_ happen then? He felt himself floundering a little as he suddenly realized that he hadn't actually thought that far ahead. And all that after Lucifer had  _just_ lectured him on thinking a few moves ahead....

He stood up from his mother's side and walked over to Atropos, who regarded him with a raised eyebrow as he approached.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked.

Crowley smiled in return. “Nothing so expensive as that, love. You'd be doing me a favor, actually.”

Atropos cocked her head to the side. “What's your concern, Crowley?”

Crowley looked briefly over his shoulder at Hastur, making sure he was far enough away before speaking.

“Supposing all  _this_ works,” he said, raising his eyebrows in emphasis. “What do we do then? If you try to activate a time-line with that golden thread trick of yours, won't he be able to see it as well?”

Atropos nodded and smiled wickedly. “Yes. But he won't be able to do anything about it.”

“How so?”

“The time-line flows, he's drawn into it's current as well. No being is powerful enough to resist that.” She nodded discreetly in Lucifer's direction, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching Rowena lazily with his eyes half-lidded, occasionally looking up at the floating energy in the center of the spell form, waiting for it to begin moving. “Some beings, very few of them, can observe multiple dimensions, if they concentrate hard enough. If you want to know what would happen next, I would ask him.”

“You can't just tell me yourself? Aren't you the keeper of all of this information?”

Atropos smiled and shook her head. “I'm a firefighter, Crowley. I just make sure things get put back on track if they're thrown too far off. Precognition is not a gift granted to me.”

“So I have to ask Lucifer then, is what you're telling me?”

“'Fraid so.”

“Isn't Hastur just as powerful as him?”

Atropos shook her head. “It works differently. It gets what it wants from destruction. It can't see things that will unfold or be created, only it's end goal.” She scratched at her head with her pen. “Still very powerful, though, if you think about it. Just by destroying various time-lines and manipulating events, it has managed to maneuver us all here to help it achieve it's goal. Singularly effective.”

Crowley frowned. “Right up until the point that we turn the table on it....to coin a horribly overused phrase.” He looked back to Lucifer. “So, from what you're saying, Lucifer might be able to tell me what will happen in the new time-line once you activate it? He's attuned to the power of creation?”

Atropos smiled at him. “Boils the old noodle, doesn't it? But, yes, actually. He is quite attuned to it. God made him from some of it's core elements.”

“Huh”, Crowley grunted in acknowledgment. “You would think he'd be more in tune with the Darkness.”

Atropos shook her head. “Nope. Lucifer just has a bit too much of a dash of free will thrown in the mix is all.”

“Surely you're not saying that that's a bad thing, are you?”

“It can be for anyone, if they don't know how to deal with it. Lucifer is the worst case scenario. He uses free will as a weapon.”

Crowley looked at her questioningly. “As a weapon against what?”

Atropos shrugged. “His family. His Father. Himself. Everything. He wields it like a shield against who he truly is and who he was created to be- the first among Angels. God's favorite son.”

Crowley nodded slowly, considering. “Well then, if you put it that way, what in the world could he have done differently, pressure like that?” he asked rhetorically. He walked away from Atropos towards Lucifer.

Atropos studied them both for a moment before sighing and looking back at her clipboard.

“He could try growing up for a change,” she murmured to herself, scanning the sheet and looking back up to the spell, which had begun to move....

 

***

 

The Host of Angels slammed through Hell like a hot knife. The leaderless hordes tried to put up a token resistance, but without the power of Lucifer backing them, they crumbled before Michael's relentless onslaught. It took less than an hour of fighting before he had smashed open the gates of the Throne Room itself, and was now facing the captured Dukes and Knights of Hell, who had been bound and arranged before him on their knees, their faces turned up to him in defiance and fury and mostly, Michael noted with a degree of satisfaction, _fear_. Michael returned their looks with a sneer of his own, pivoting on his metal boot, the spur renting the floor as he paced around the room.

“So let me get this straight,” he intoned, loud enough for the various denizens of the Court of Hell to hear him. “None of you are willing....or  _able_ ....to tell me where he is?” He clasped his hands in front of him and turned back to the Lords of Hell, eyes burning. “Which is it? Or should I just start burning you all away?”

A couple of them flinched back. One of them, a Duke,  _named Ennui_ , Michael thought, licked his fat lips and spoke.

“He...he just left. He slaughtered his new wife Ruby, and fled the Throne Room in the company of a Demon....a clerk or something from the Crossroad Demons office pool....name of Crowley....”

Michael walked forward slowly and menacingly until he stood in front of Ennui, towering over him.

“That name is supposed to mean something to me?”, he growled.

Sweat poured off of Ennui's forehead. “N...no...that name doesn't mean anything to anyone....that's the whole  _point_ ...”

Michael's sword was unsheathed and swung in a semi-circular arch through Ennui's head before he could say another word. There was rush of energy and an implosion of dark smoke. The air cracked loudly as the Demon's lifeless body slipped to the floor, it's burned-out eyes sockets staring blindly up at his companions, who cringed back from the smoking corpse.

“So,” he said slowly. “Who can tell me something about this office worker Crowley?”

The Dukes and Knights looked down at the floor blankly, panic setting in on some of their faces.

“No one?” Michael said into the silence, sighing. “Pity.” He strode to the end of the row of nobles and held his sword over his shoulder. “Suppose I should just start on this end, then. Work my way down.”

“Lilith,” a woman's voice called out from somewhere behind him. Micheal spun, glaring into the captives.

“What was that?” he shouted, moving over to them. A couple of the soldier Angels guarding the group stepped out of his way as he pushed into the group, looking for the speaker. The Demons parted more than willingly, leaving a clear circle, in which stood a rather nervous Demon, staring at the floor and wringing her hands. Michael came to a halt in front of her. “And who are you?”

“Meg,” the Demon barely whispered. “I also work, well  _worked_ , in Contracts....I was...I was working for Ruby, before Lucifer killed her....”

Michael cocked his head. “Doing what?”

Meg looked halfway up, not meeting his eyes. “Trying to kill Crowley, actually.”

Michael frowned in confusion. “Kill him? What for?”

Meg shrugged. “Some research he was doing. Something that was dangerous to Ruby....something that Lilith knew more about. You...you'll have to talk to her....”

Michael glared at her for a few seconds before leaning close. “Know this, Demon,” he hissed. “If you're lying to me....”

Meg looked up, meeting his eyes. “Oh no....look, I get it O-Vengeful-One. But I don't feel like getting Ginsu-ed right this second, OK? So the faster you're out of here, the better for everyone.” She looked back down at the floor. Michael saw that she was trying to suppress a smile.

Michael clenched his jaw, annoyed. He spun on his heel and pointed at one of his Angels. “You, bring her along,” he snarled, looking back over his shoulder at Meg. “You. You take us to Lilith.”

Meg nodded, looking around at her fellow captives, who were watching her with wide eyes full of hatred now. She shrugged. “What?” she exclaimed nonchalantly, striding out of the group accompanied by her Angel guard. “I'm backing the winning horse is all....enjoy what comes next...” she said, winking and waving over her shoulder.

As they left the throne room, Michael paused at the door, putting a hand on Uriel's shoulder, who was stationed there to watch, and to keep any Demons from escaping.

“Kill them all,” Michael whispered to him, nodding back into the room. He glanced at Meg, who was smiling to herself, looking at the floor. He shook his head in disgust. Demons. They would sell their own mothers to save their own hide.

Uriel smiled back at Michael, drawing his sword and moving into the room with his elite squadron of Angels behind him.

The sounds of the horrific slaughter followed them on their way out.

 

***

 

“It's working,” Lucifer whispered to Crowley, eyes glittering, watching the tracking spell intensely. The light in the center had moved out of the form and was now moving towards the wall. Hastur had noticed as well, and was watching it move along the wall, the surprise evident in his face.

Crowley took note of that and whispered back confidentially to Lucifer. “When that thing gets there, I need you to tell me what it finds there.”

Lucifer frowned. “Whatever for?”

“Because Atropos told me you're the only one around here with the Mojo to see what happens next.”

Lucifer turned towards him, a faux smile on his face. “Oh Crowley, are you trying to skip to the end of the book?”

Crowley smiled humorously back at him. “Forgive a fellow if he wants to know if he's about to get blinked out of existence is all.”

Lucifer nodded. “No, I get it.” He began to follow the tracking spell's light along the wall, peering into the crystals that it passed. He sighed. “Look, Crowley, you're still going to be you, OK? No matter what dimension that becomes manifest. Think of it like a universal thread.” The light began to shrink and slow down, circling an area in tighter and tighter rings, zeroing in on a specific crystal. Lucifer looked back to Crowley. “If it's any comfort at all, you won't notice a thing.”

“I suppose that's something,” Crowley muttered. “Still leaves a sick feeling in my stomach though.” He looked back at Hastur, who was hurrying to catch up, and then back at Lucifer. “How is it for you?”

Lucifer frowned. “What do you mean?”

Crowley shrugged, “Something Attie told me. Mentioned that you could perceive multiple dimensions.” He glanced at Lucifer. “Gotta be a burden, that.”

Lucifer smiled. “Just because I can see them doesn't mean that I have to pay attention to them. You'd be surprised how many sentient beings adapt that very same ideal.”

“What's this?” Hastur asked in an angered hiss. “You can't have possibly found the Angel. He erased himself completely.” He peered deeply at the crystal the tracking spell had led them to, eyes squinting. “I see.....it is the ship escaping Atlantis....a figure...he is hidden to me.... he is fighting....an Archangel....” he straightened up, glaring at Crowley, then at Lucifer. “What trick is this? There is no Castiel here.” He glanced back at Rowena, who simply smiled back at him from her seated position by the spell's origin and gave him a friendly wave. Hastur's frown deepened. Atropos had walked over and joined them.

“You are correct, Old One,” she said calmly, smiling. “There is no Castiel. There can't be. Not yet.”

Hastur cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

Atropos shook her head slowly. “You and your Masters....this realm was  _never_ your purview. You should have never interfered here.”

Hastur smiled evilly. “Is that a threat, little Norn?” He moved threateningly closer. “We are trapped by your God and His damnable 'Plan'. What would you have us do? We took whatever action was available to us. And the time-line....it is the stuff of the Universe itself. This is hardly your exclusive domain.”

Atropos smiled back at Hastur, just as evilly. “I'll remember that you said that,” she said evenly. She then bent towards the crystal and extracted the thread, the light forming into a golden thread.

Hastur grabbed her wrist and held it firmly. She whipped her head towards him.

“What is it you're intending to do here, Norn?”

“I'm putting things right,” she answered evenly, her jaw clenched. Crowley noticed that red welts were appearing in her arm where Hastur was holding it, but Atropos showed no signs of pain.

“How?” Hastur hissed menacingly, his grip tightening. Crowley winced as he heard bones actually grinding in her arm. Atropos let out a small gasp, making Crowley look at Lucifer for help. Lucifer met his eyes, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Let me go,” growled Atropos.

Hastur's smile widened. “Not until you tell me what trick you're trying to pull over on me.”

“It's simple....the Angel Castiel created a paradox, his future self destroying a past version of himself in the far-flung past, wiping out all of his deeds and actions after that point, including his own action of murdering himself. Hence: paradox.”

“Obvious.”

Atropos nodded. “So, the point of the paradox has to be repaired.”

Hastur leaned closer. “That's  _impossible_ . How?”

Atropos' eyes flicked over Hastur's shoulder and then she smiled.

“Simple, by creating another one in the same place. One less strenuous to the time-line.”

Hastur's eyes burned with fury. “Again I ask you,  _how_ ?!”

Tears welled up in Atropos' eyes as she fought off the pain. She had not dropped the golden thread, however, stubbornly refusing to let it go. “Sacrifice,” she gasped, “One life related and also equally responsible for the paradox traded for another - an _even_ trade. As I just explained, one resulting in events being less strenuous to the time-line.”

Hastur frowned, peering at the thread. “But who....?” His eyes suddenly widened in understanding. Then he threw back his head and laughed, a hollow, echoing, evil sound. “Oh, oh well played, Atropos.” He did not release her arm, instead dragging her away from the wall. “Well played. But if you think for a second that I will allow you to activate that thread....”

“Who said....anything about you....getting a say in this....at all?”, Atropos gasped, also laughing hysterically in a mixture of contempt and pain.

“What, do you think a witch, a Crossroads Demon and a half-powered Fallen Angel are strong enough to stop me?”, Hastur sneered, hauling her to her feet and reaching for her hand. “Give me that damned thread!”

Atropos stopped struggling and met Hastur's eyes defiantly. He hesitated.

“No, they don't have the power to stop you. But with _him_ on board....” Her eyes flicked once again over Hastur's shoulder. Hastur turned slowly away from her, following her gaze.

“....but....that's.... _impossible_ ....”, he whispered, the fear audible in every syllable.

 

***

 

Michael strode into Lilith's office, a group of elite Angels and Meg in tow. The Demon Lilith stood slowly and regarded him, arms crossed.

“Did you have an appointment?” she asked smoothly, tapping a finger against her arm.

“Cute,” Michael snarled, grabbing Meg and throwing her bodily to the floor at Lilith's feet. “Crowley. What was he researching and where was he last seen?”

Lilith smiled. “I see. And....what can you offer me in return for such....valuable information?”

Without a word, Michael swiftly walked forward and grabbed Lilith by the neck, swinging her around and slamming her up against the drink cabinet on the wall. Glasses fell all around them and shattered into splinters.

“Let's start with your life, Demon,” Michael said in a whisper.

“Actually,” Lilith answered, her voice choked off, “That's an excellent starting point in this negotiation.....just what I had in mind....”

Frowning, Micheal released her and she stumbled against the cabinet, righting herself, glass shards crunching under her heels. He folded his arms and stared at her.

“As I was saying....” Lilith continued. “My life, your  _word_ , now,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Let me live in peace and out of prison, unharmed, etc., etc. and I'll tell you everything that you want to know.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think that I can't make you tell me anyway?”

Lilith gave him a half-smile in return. “Oh, I'm sure you'd love to  _try_ . But truth is, you don't have the time for it. Consider that warning....free advice.”

“What do you mean?”

Lilith cocked her head. “You know, for the new 'God' and all, you can be a bit thick....”

Michael growled menacingly and took a step towards her. Lilith threw up her hands in a warding gesture.

“OK, ok, my mistake....sorry.”

Michael stopped, still glaring at Lilith.

“It's just that time is a rather important factor in our negotiation, especially in your case.”

“Convenient for you,” Michael replied coldly.

“It is, isn't it?”, Lilith replied immediately, smiling triumphantly. “So, what'll it be?”

Michael grunted, considering. Finally, he turned his head to the side and spat.

“Fine,” he answered, not looking at her. “It's a deal. You'll be spared.” He turned towards her. “Now, where's Crowley and my brother?”

Lilith smiled and shook her head. “Oh no you don't.”

Micheal's brow darkened again in anger. “What are you talking about?”

Lilith walked back to her desk, brushing away broken glass from her path with her foot. “Do you think that I've been in charge of the Office of Crossroad-Demons Contracts for all of these years without learning a thing or two?” She reached into her desk and pulled out a contract. “It's gotta be in writing.” She pause, holding up the contract before slapping it down on the desk. “Or nothing at all.”

“You don't trust me?”, Michael snarled.

“Of course I don't,” Lilith answered, not blinking. “I'm not an idiot.”

Michael watched her in stunned silence and then stormed over to the desk, grabbing a pen off of her desktop. He scanned the document. “Fine....wait...” he said, frowning and looking up at her. “We....aren't going to have to kiss to seal this, are we?”, he said, disgust filling his voice.

“As.... _tempting_ as that prospect might be, I'll think we'll just skip that for now,” Lilith answered, not bothering to hide her snark. “Just sign it.”

Micheal scrawled his name across the paper and Lilith took it, examined the signature, rolled it up and tucked it neatly into her jacket.

“Now....my brother Lucifer....”, Michael half whispered, furious.

“My pleasure....” Lilith cooed, leaning closer.

 

***

 

Hastur backed away in a full panic, moving his free hand to Atropos' throat. “Stay back, or I'll snap her neck!”

Lucifer tilted his head, moving forward. “Ridiculous. Even if you  _could_ kill Fate, which I don't think that you can, you still need her to escape here.”

Hastur licked his lips, eyes darting back and forth.

“Why brother, I think he's cornered....” the Angel to Lucifer's right said, moving forward, sword awash in golden light.

“Nice of you to show up,” Lucifer replied. “Took you long enough.”

“Paperwork”, Michael replied, moving closer to the Old One, his hazel-green eyes flashing. “Hastur, is it? I haven't killed one of your kind in a  _very_ long time....”

Hastur made another desperate, lunging grab for the thread in Atropos' hand. She used his momentum to twist away, breaking his grip, her hand immediately flying to her injured arm and cradling it and the golden thread that she held against her body.

The two Archangels rushed the last few feet towards the Old One, each one crashing bodily into it's shoulders. They pushed it backwards and pinned against the wall of crystals. It howled in rage and thrashed at them, it's outer appearance shifting from the youthful southern man back into a mass of writhing, fanged creatures. The Angels grunted in effort, trying to hold it down.

“Atropos, now!”; Lucifer yelled, “I don't know how long we can hold him!”

Atropos let out another gasp of pain as she pulled out her crushed arm and held the thread out in front of her eyes. The golden light reflected in them and then the thread solidified. She smiled in satisfaction and tucked the thread carefully into the clipboard.

“See you on the other side,” she said, smiling at Hastur. The Old One stared back at her in open horror as their surroundings began to fade.....the wall of crystals, Rowena holding the Book of the Damned, Crowley staring in fascination, the two Archangels struggling to hold back the Old One....

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”, screamed the Old One in Joshua's body, the air itself shaking with fury, as it flung itself desperately at Castiel, trying to stop him.

The Blade plunged towards Castiel's past form, attempting to destroy the Angel utterly.

Joshua noticed a flicker of motion to his side, and gaped in surprise as he saw the figure of a blond woman wearing a business suit and glasses holding a clipboard appear out of thin air right next to him.

She reached out her hand....

….and shoved him down in front of Castiel's Blade.

The Blade plunged into Joshua's heart, ripping through the human vessel. Hastur, the Old One possessing him, shuddered and screamed in agony as the Blade's energies ripped it apart. The woman leaned over Joshua/Hastur's writing form and whispered to it.

“I warned you, Old One. Time is my domain. You should have never interfered.”

Joshua's eyes widened in shock. Castiel fell back, confused, as the woman wrapped up his past form and with a wink in his direction and a sad smile, disappeared with it into nothingness.

Castiel felt a tugging sensation as something began to drag him back from this time to the present....

Time stopped.

Creation itself....

….shuddered.

In relief.

 

***

 

Crowley watched the Big Board for a minute longer, then sighed and stood up.

He headed for the door when he heard a thump behind him.

He looked over his shoulder at the steaming, crumpled form of an Angel in a beige trenchcoat curled up on the floor. The Angel let out a slow moan of pain.

“Didn't work, Castiel?” Crowley asked.

“No,” Castiel answered weakly. “There was....interference....”

“Interference?”, Crowley asked, moving over and helping Castiel into a chair. “From what?”

“From whom,” Castiel grunted, holding his head in both hands. “Someone saved my past self, killed Joshua instead.”

Crowley frowned. “That's bloody weird....I could have sworn that I'd just done that myself....”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, you'll find out soon enough,” Crowley grunted. “So, who was it that interfered?”

“Fate,” Castiel answered, rubbing his forehead. “She showed up and shoved him in front of my Blade.”

“Whoa,” Crowley answered, eyebrows raising. “So.....that means...”

“That means we can't stop Purgatory from being opened,” Castiel replied weakly. “It's too fixed in the time-line if Fate herself had to interfere.”

“But if Joshua died back then....” Crowley began.

Castiel shook his head. “No. He sent himself back in time from the future and assumed the role of the Emperor of Atlantis. Everything that he had accomplished before his death, future or not, still occurred.”

“Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“Headache,” Crowley complained, pouring himself another glass of Scotch.

“In any case,” Castiel answered, nonplussed, “We still have to worry about the Portal to Purgatory being opened and.... _what in the hell is that_?!”

“Hm?” Crowley asked, peering over the rim of his glass. Castiel was staring at the Big Board, standing up slowly and scanning the mushroom cloud.

“Oh, _that_ ,” Crowley answered smiling and setting down his glass. “That, my friend is what happens when all of this Supernatural mumbo-jumbo meets a 200-kiloton Russian nuclear warhead.”

“You _did_ this?” Castiel asked, turning to Crowley, mouth agape.

“You're welcome,” Crowley grunted. “Two birds with one stone, actually. Our Demon and Angel friends were standing there when it went off. Joshua as well. Well, this time period's version of him anyway.”

Castiel shook his head. “That won't stop them....”

“No, but I bet it hurt like hell,” Crowley grimaced in satisfaction. “And besides, that gate to Purgatory? Anything trying to come through there now is going to glow in the dark for the rest of it's life.” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “A distinct disadvantage when hunting prey at night, now that you think about it.”

Castiel continued shaking his head, but a small smile began to appear on his face. “I won't even ask where you got that....but still, that should suffice in keeping things from moving to and from Purgatory for awhile. The radiation alone will kill anything approaching it.”

“Oh stop it with the oozing praise, Castiel, before I get all misty-eyed,” Crowley grunted, clicking off the Big Board. “C'mon, let's get out of here, see if we can round up any of those Apostles of theirs while they're incapacitated....”

The intercom on the conference table flashed red, interrupting him.

“Yes, Justin?”, he asked, irritated. He poured himself another shot of whiskey and downed it quickly, watching once more in satisfaction as the mushroom cloud continued to settle on the Big Board. Castiel was watching as well.

“Sir, that search and rescue project that you told me to keep running?” Justin's voice asked from the other end. Crowley spun back towards the intercom, picking up the receiver from the device.

“Tell me that you've found them,” Crowley whispered in sudden anticipation.

“Yes sir,” Justin's voice answered, triumphant. “”We've found them. We've found the Winchesters.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
